Little Lion Man
by cyberwulf
Summary: Serving a life sentence for murder, Diego thought he had nothing left to lose - until a stroke robbed him of the ability to speak and write. Now the prison whipping boy, he grows more isolated and alone...until the boy comes. Written for the PW Kink Meme.
1. After the Fall

**Little Lion Man**

**by Cyberwulf**

**Rated T for bad language and explicit themes**

**Disclaimer:** _Ace Attorney_ and all related characters are the property of Capcom.

**Summary:** Serving a life sentence for murder, Diego thought he had nothing left to lose - until a stroke robbed him of the ability to speak and write. Now the prison whipping boy, he grows more isolated and alone every day...until the boy comes. Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme. Original prompt was for a character to become unable to speak or write, and for a second character to learn to interpret him/her.

_xxx_

It could have been worse, they said.

It was relatively mild; his bad side wasn't completely paralysed, and with some occupational therapy and physiotherapy he would get most of his gross motor function back. That part wasn't new to him. He'd been through all that before, after the coma, coaxing his wasted body into doing what he told it. It was funny – he never thought he'd make peace with what Hawthorne had done to him, let alone find anything _positive_ about it. And this time he still had two strong limbs. A weak physical form – even the eye on his bad side constantly streaming – Diego could handle.

The fact that he could no longer form language was what really frightened him.

Oh, he could still read, and understand when people spoke to him. He knew it could be worse. Some people in his condition wound up trapped in a Tower of Babel nightmare, where other people spoke gibberish and the written word might as well have been a child's scribbles. But when he tried to talk, and found his tongue and lips and brain could not remember how to form vowels and consonants, or tried to write, only for his hand to tense up or else scrawl nonsensical shapes on the page, he felt a panic unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. Even that fateful day in the cafeteria, when his eyes and nose began to stream and the convulsions started, didn't compare. The loss of language was proof that his brain was damaged.

Treatment for his condition had come a long way in the past twenty years, they said. He smirked, the numb side of his face twitching once before going slack. There were no cerebral implants or stem cell treatments for murderers who had the bad manners to survive a stroke. So OT and physio it was, and speech and language therapy.

The speech therapist was cute, and he tried as much for her as for himself. Slowly – very slowly – little words, little sentences. Cat. Mug. Man. Woman. Guard. They came out slurred, sinking into the saliva that gathered in the slack corner of his mouth. He tried not to show his frustration around his therapist, especially when she told him how well he was doing and he wanted to shout at her _I used to be a lawyer, kitten, I've saved men from the rope and charmed women into bed using nothing but words and you're telling me "Coffee hot" is progress?_ _That being able to write my first name after a month is an achievement?_ It wasn't her fault. God help her, she was trying so hard to do as much as possible before the higher ups decided "Good enough is!" and sent him back to prison.

And as soon as he could walk (with a leg brace), grip a lunch tray with both hands and use the can by himself, that was what they did. Put him right back on the wing with all his old friends, with a streaming eye and a pocketful of short, slurred words.

At least he got a cell to himself.

_xxx_

Diego was prepared for the taunting.

He wasn't prepared for how powerless it made him feel.

"MEEEEEEHHHHH!" Tigre pushed his tongue between his bottom lip and teeth, and continued making retard noises. Diego clenched his teeth and tried to ignore him. His own fault – he'd tried to tell the gangster to fuck off and it had come out as _fuh och_. "BELLLM!"

The other cons laughed uproariously. Diego felt a little pang when he noticed Daryan Crescend among them, making sure the whole room knew he thought Tigre's antics were hilarious. Crescend wasn't a friend – there were no friends in prison – but he used to cackle whenever Diego cut Gavin down to size or flirted with the one guard who was a notorious homophobe. Those days were all over now, Diego realised suddenly, and quickly turned his attention back to his food. Couldn't afford to show any more weakness.

"Could you please not _dribble_ into your lunch?" Gavin this time, deliberately sitting opposite him just so he could express his distaste. "It's _disgusting_."

"I tink baby needs a bib!" Tigre howled, and a moment later Diego felt rough cloth around his neck. He twisted in his seat, and managed to get in one good lick on Tigre with his lunch tray before the other prisoners descended on him.

The guards were quick, at least, and by the time the brouhaha was over, Diego was the one in solitary. For his own protection, they said. He leaned his head against the cold wall and let out a deep sigh, the throb of his bruises nothing compared to his wounded pride. He would be the target for a while, he knew, that was inevitable. All he could do was shorten that while by not giving them more ammunition.

And that meant clamming up. Right now, forever.

He knew it was the right thing to do, that it would make things easier in the long run. But all he could think of was Mia, teasing him about how much he loved the sound of his own voice, and Diego wrapped his good arm around himself and wept.

_xxx_

Diego hadn't realised until then just how much he used to interact with the other prisoners before the stroke. He wasn't involved in any of the smuggling rings or dope rackets, and he didn't have the connections or vendettas that the mob- and gang-affiliated prisoners did. But he was always ready with a fresh remark when the gangster kids, or even Tigre, were boasting about how many asses they'd capped. Some of the older cons would point him out to young, nervous first-timers as an easy target, and watch with glee as he laid them out on their backs. He'd carved out a niche for himself as someone not to be fucked with, who didn't care about cooling his heels in solitary for busting some punk's lip. And he'd become an expert at subtly menacing Redd White whenever he was bored, silently stalking him until the purple-haired bastard was ready to make in his stripes.

Now all that was over. Word had spread about the fight, how the once dangerous Diego Armando was weak down one side and needed a peg leg to get around. Redd White strutted around like a preening, purple peacock, nothing to be afraid of any more. All the two-bit punks he'd ever walloped were circling like hyenas, and he found himself sitting alone at mealtimes so that no-one would start in on him about the drool that trickled down his chin when he ate.

Gavin was the only one who ever joined him, and that was only to make scathing remarks about his appearance. Gavin fancied himself as Hannibal Lecter, playing up the psychopath aspect of his character as often as possible. In the old days, Diego would wait for just the right moment, when Gavin had almost drawn his audience in, then deflate him with a lewd remark. Gavin was surprisingly prissy for a double murderer, and a well-chosen, clever dirty comment usually had him storming off in disgust. But that time was over too, and Gavin made sure Diego knew that he revelled in it.

"You disgusting old man, they should make you eat in the corridor so the rest of us don't have to watch you dribbling your food. Don't you ever wash your face?" A kick to his bad leg. "Answer me!"

Oh, he did want to answer, he had _so many_ answers, but no way to articulate them. All he could do was keep spooning food into the good side of his mouth, and try not to let any slop back onto his plate.

"They should have let you die in a pool of your own piss."

Most days, Diego wished they had.

He smirked at himself, sitting on the outside looking in while the other inmates bantered, played pool and made deals with contraband and cigarettes. Of course it would take surviving _two_ catastrophic illnesses before _he_ learned not to take life for granted. He thought he'd hit bottom when he called Iris and bullied her into taking the blame for what he'd done. He thought – in a strangely comforting way – that things couldn't get any worse when the guards handed him his stripes and ran the door of his cell shut behind him. But Dante was right all along, it seemed, and he'd been nowhere near the final circle of Hell when he woke up in that hospital all those years ago, to find nobody waiting for him.

And didn't he deserve this slow march to Cocytus? Hadn't he murdered someone's mother, put two girls' lives in danger and sent a third to prison for the sake of his own selfish, stupid pride? But for that one fateful moment when he let his guard slip, he might have called the Fey clan family. Instead he'd swung in like a wrecking ball and smashed it to pieces.

At night when he couldn't sleep, with tears and saliva soaking into his pillow, Diego wished he could go back in time, grab his tormented, rage-filled younger self by the shoulders and yell _you don't know how much you have left to lose, amigo. Forget revenge and go to grief counselling like the doc said. You have no idea how bad things can get._

And so it went, every day a little greyer (without red, the colours were all washed out anyway), every day more isolated and alone.

Until the boy came.


	2. The Boy

In the early spring of 2017, Manfred von Karma had visitation with his younger daughter, the only one of his children who would have anything to do with him, for the final time. That night, he fashioned a noose from his pants and hung himself in his cell. Von Karma, a man who had valued the appearance of perfection so highly that it drove him to murder, chose to be found with a purple face and a death erection sticking out of his prison boxers rather than swing in front of a roomful of bloodthirsty witnesses.

Diego sat on the floor and stared up at the vacant top bunk, the frame an ideal hanging point even for someone as tall as him. Did Hell still have a circle for the suicides, or would _Santa Maria, Madre de Dios_ take pity on his suffering?

And did it even matter, anymore?

_xxx_

His new-found isolation gave him time to think. Probably too much time. He didn't know what he was waiting for. They didn't have him under special observation, he was allowed to return to his cell earlier than the other prisoners because of his physical condition, and most importantly he had the cell to himself. Any day now they could stick somebody in with him, a punk or hardened con with a mean streak who would be delighted at having the resident cripple at his mercy. And still he hesitated. He was afraid, Diego realised in disgust. Afraid it would leave him only half-dead, tied to machines for a second time until his stubborn body finally relinquished its hold on life.

He had withdrawn so much from the rest of prison society that he hadn't noticed the new face in the exercise yard. It wasn't until he heard Tigre's braying laughter as he got close to the fence that he paid attention.

"MEEEEEH! I no like you! I no speak English!"

At first Diego had assumed the mockery was directed at him, but the last part was too specific. He lifted his head and turned towards a small group gathered by the fence, in the furthest corner from the guards on duty. Tigre was leaning over a muscular young man with shaggy blond curls and startled blue eyes. The other cons were getting into it, too, shoving at his shoulders and sneering "Polack" and "Borgi".

The young man ignored them, focussing on Tigre. What he'd likely intended as a roar came out instead as a frightened mew. "You get off my face!"

Tigre laughed harder. "What'd dis kid say?" he said theatrically, addressing his delighted audience. "Dat sounded like an invitation to me!" He turned back to the young man, speaking loud enough for the other cons to hear. "Kinda risky out here, but if youse insist! Gather round, boys."

Diego broke into a shuffling run as the other cons made a circle and Tigre's hand went to his pants. It was partly the similarity of the taunting, but mostly it was because under the juvie muscles and day-old stubble the newcomer was still only a boy. And all those bastards could see it.

He pushed off with his good side and slammed his bad side into Tigre, feeling a surge of savage glee as his brace caught the gangster full in the crotch. The Tiger went down with a yowl and Diego stumbled before regaining his balance. He turned to the circle of stunned prisoners, brought his fists in close and jabbed at the air with his good hand in short, sharp punches. _Pick on me, you goddamn cowards. Pick on an old-timer who knows all your tricks._

The moment was all too brief. Somebody kicked the back of his good knee. Brace or no brace, his bad leg couldn't support his weight on its own, and he hit the dirt. Diego's first thought was that Tigre had recovered, but he was still curled up in a ball, hugging his crotch.

"This doesn't concern you, Peg Leg."

Diego looked up. Crescend stared down at him, a disgusted sneer curling his lip.

And then the boy – forced to his knees to await whatever Tigre wanted to do with him – suddenly came to life. He sprang forward with a yell, tackling Crescend and knocking him to the ground. Diego struggled to stand up as he watched the two wrestle, and the fickle cons crowded around to watch this unexpected piece of entertainment.

The boy had rage on his side, but Crescend had been here longer, and had learned very quickly how to win fights. It wasn't long before the former detective had the upper hand. Despite the rapidly growing pain down his bad side, Diego tried to muster his strength and join in. But then the guards were on top of them, pulling him to his feet, separating Crescend and the boy, hauling Tigre to the infirmary.

_xxx_

Solitary. Diego slid his visor off and ran a hand over his sweating face. He grimaced at the grimy feel of his bad cheek, constantly streaked with tears. Stupid. If he'd just walked away, the boy would be the target instead of him. Now he would have to answer for spoiling Tigre's fun and turning his nuts into basketballs.

_Ha…! You always did have a weakness for lost little kittens, Armando. This one even made you forget you're only half a man. You never learn, do you? You've got a reckless streak a mile wide._

Diego leaned his head against the wall. He was so tired, so very tired of fighting. He remembered urging Mia, after the Fawles case, when she wanted so much to quit and go home, not to give up. To _never_ give up. Well, Hell had room for hypocrites, too.

_xxx_

_Hospital. He recognised the smell. Antiseptic and sickness and despair. Hawthorne sat by his bed. She was a nurse. She spooned baby food into his mouth._

_He felt panic. It was poisoned, it had to be. Something slow and cumulative so that no-one would ever suspect her. His body was heavy, held down by blankets and machines. He couldn't move. He dribbled and she wiped his mouth._

"_It's disgusting to watch you eat." Gavin's voice, coming out of Hawthorne's mouth. "Where else do you dribble from? Must we endure that, too?"_

_Mia. Beautiful and naked, twitching and groaning in ecstasy. Wright with his face between her thighs, making her legs clench and quiver._

"_Of course I didn't wait for you, Diego." Her voice was scornful and mocking. Edgeworth pinned her arms above her head, smirking as he fucked her roughly. "A woman has needs." Wright squeezed her hanging breasts, rocking in and out of her from behind. "And you actually thought I loved you."_

_The cafeteria. He bent double as he retched, his eyes and nose streamed uncontrollably. Hawthorne shook her head at him as urine ran down his leg and he lost control of his bowels._

"_They should have let you die in a pool of your own piss."_

Diego woke in solitary with an urgent need for the toilet. He tried to hurry, but his bad side was stiff from the fight. By the time he made it, the crotch of his boxers was soaked.

Silent tears ran down his face as he pissed the pitiful amount of water that remained into the toilet. He stripped off his boxers and hid them under the bed. He pulled his trousers on and lay down again.

It was because of the dream, he told himself. A very bad dream. Mia _had_ waited, he knew she had. Her obituary made no mention of a grieving lover. He'd begged the charge nurse to let him see the visitor logs, and she'd come by regularly. She hadn't forgotten him as soon as another handsome face with a hard cock came along.

Had she?

Diego pushed the upsetting thought aside, curling his good arm around himself for comfort. The rest of the dream, though – that was his future. Slowly sliding into the grave, losing control of his body little by little. He wouldn't go out like a man, in a prison brawl with a shank between his ribs. He wouldn't be one of those lucky old-timers, who lived to a ripe old age and died peacefully in their sleep, both legs still able to carry them and their bladders still watertight. If he wanted any dignity about his death, he would have to do it himself.

Diego watched the darkness go from bluish-black to slowly lightening shades of grey. His last day on earth.


	3. Suicide is Painless

They put him back with the general population shortly after lunch. Diego sleepwalked through the rest of the day. No-one menaced him, and distantly he realised that Tigre was still in the infirmary (or perhaps doing a spell in solitary of his own) but most of his thoughts were focussed on the bunkbeds. On Manfred von Karma with his eyes bulging and his cock sticking out of his pants. And if a demonic whore awaited him instead of Mia's faithful arms, so be it. There was nothing he could do to change that now.

He waited until the guard who escorted him to his cell was out of sight, and moved to the back of the cell just to be safe. He took off his pants and laboriously tied a slipknot in one leg. Diego glanced around, then slipped the loop over his head, making sure it would pull tight. He took his makeshift noose off and gazed up at the bunkbeds.

He tossed the noose up first, then grasped the mattress of the top bunk and tried to pull himself up. He wound up with his good elbow on the mattress, his bad arm too weak to do much good.

And now he had a problem. He couldn't pull himself straight up, because he was unbalanced. His bad leg was too weak and the brace was too heavy to swing onto the bunk. And he was depending on his good arm to hold onto the mattress, so he couldn't swing his good leg up. Diego dropped to the floor and tried again. He tried almost half a dozen times – pushing off with his good leg, trying to push off (and failing) with his bad leg, jumping, clawing, using the frame for support. Each time, failure. Diego slumped on the floor, tears of disbelief starting down his cheeks. This really was the end. After all he'd been through, after every single thing he'd ever enjoyed had been taken away from him, he couldn't even kill himself. He tossed his visor on his bunk and buried his face in his hands, the concrete floor chilling him through his boxers.

He didn't know how long he sat there before he heard the cell door slide back on its tracks.

"Jesus _Christ_." The guard sounded bored rather than shocked or concerned, and Diego felt relief. He didn't want some nosy screw sending him to the shrink. "Kid, help him put his pants on, will ya?"

_Kid…?_ Diego picked up his visor and put it on. The boy from the exercise yard stood over him, wearing a nervous expression and carrying his spare clothes.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then the boy put his things on the top bunk and reached for Diego's pants.

Diego tried to get there before the boy, but it always took him a few seconds to get up from sitting on the floor, and by the time he was on his feet the boy had drawn the pants off the bunk and was looking at the knot in the leg. Diego snatched them out of his hands and turned away, untangling the cloth as fast as he could before pulling his pants back on.

When he turned back around the boy was sitting contritely on the floor by the bunks, his hands in his lap.

"My name Machi," he said hesitantly. "What I call you?"

Diego looked away. He couldn't pronounce his own name properly any more. The vowel sounds ran together and it came out as an ethnic slur. His mouth twitched into a bitter smirk – it was about on par with losing the ability to see his favourite colour.

Machi shifted nervously. "I hear what they call you," he said, nodding vaguely in the direction outside the cell. He tried to smile and it came out pained. "But I don't think you like it."

Diego smirked at him briefly. He tried to quell the unease he felt at suddenly having company. Machi expected him to talk – or at least communicate. He'd been put on the spot and he didn't like it.

"I get here yesterday," Machi said after a few moments of silence. "From Juvenile Hall. I finish my jail here."

He rubbed his arms and looked away. Diego leaned against the wall and gazed at him. Sitting on the floor like that, he looked even younger than he had in the exercise yard. After the ruckus yesterday, the top brass probably figured the safest place for a baby-faced kid was with the half-dead cripple. He found himself wondering what Machi had done that warranted graduating from juvie to prison. Most juvenile offenders were in for petty stuff, and had their records sealed once they turned eighteen. Kid didn't look like a killer, but looks could be deceiving.

Machi looked up at him again, and tilted his head slightly to the side. "You are blind?"

Well, at least he could answer that question. Diego nodded. _Blind, dumb and lame, kid. I'm a triple threat._

"I live with blind woman when I boy," Machi replied. He drew his knees closer to his chest. "She treat me like her son. But then –"

Diego gestured at him to shut up. The boy's face fell a little, a dark blush flooding over his cheeks as he put a sock in it. Diego felt guilty, but it was for his own good. You couldn't afford to start blabbing personal stuff in the big house, even to the prison dummy.

An awkward, heavy silence descended. Finally Machi looked up at him again.

"You don't want to talk to me?" It was soft and lonely, like the mew of a kitten lost in the dark. "I thought – out there –"

And suddenly Diego didn't want to listen any more. He limped to his bunk and lay down, rolling over to face the wall. Damn it, he was supposed to be done with the world. He didn't need some stray following him around because he thought they were friends.

After a few minutes, he heard Machi get up and clamber effortlessly into the top bunk. Diego lay in the dark and hated him for it.

_xxx_

Diego stared into his cereal, waiting for the milk to soak in so it was soft enough for him to eat. He was supposed to be dead by now. He would have been if it wasn't for this useless wreck of a body that stubbornly kept on living. His mouth twitched briefly into a smile. Well, maybe Tigre would finish him off, once he could fit his balls back in his underpants.

"I sit here?"

Diego looked up. Machi was standing above him, tray in his hands, wearing an expression that was both guarded and hopeful. Diego stared at him for a few seconds. _Don't you understand, kid, I can't protect you. This place is a circus and I'm the clown._

Machi's face fell. He cast a nervous look at the prisoners sitting at the next table. Richard Wellington blew him a kiss and patted the vacant chair beside him.

Diego sighed. He reached up and grasped Machi's sleeve as the boy turned to walk away. Machi looked at him hopefully. Diego nodded.

Eagerly Machi grasped the back of the chair next to Diego. Diego shook his head and gestured for him to move down. He didn't stop pointing until Machi was two seats away. The boy gave him a warm, grateful smile as he sat down, and Diego quickly looked back at his cereal. Machi would probably still see the mess he made when he ate, but at least now he wasn't right on top of him. He got enough of that from –

Diego closed his eyes briefly as Gavin arrived, taking the seat directly opposite from him. Gavin usually saved his petty cruelty for dinner time, and Diego could guess what had prompted the change in his routine.

"Well, Armando, it seems you've got yourself a dining companion." Gavin pushed his glasses up his nose, that nasty little smile that Diego used to be able to wipe away with a crude remark playing on his face. "Makes sense, I suppose – he can barely speak English, and you can't speak at all."

Diego didn't look up. He focussed on spooning soggy cereal into his mouth, chewing it just enough that he could swallow it, then taking in the next mouthful. Mechanical. He hadn't had a decent appetite for years, and he sure as hell didn't feel like eating with Gavin sitting there lording it over him. All he could do was pretend that the taunts and mockery didn't bother him.

"Of course, maybe if you opened your mouth properly –" Gavin's perfectly manicured fingers seized his jaw. Diego froze, fighting the urge to pull away. Couldn't give him the satisfaction –

"Sit down, Wingdings, if you know what's good for you."

Diego lifted his gaze as much as he could. Machi was standing up, both hands planted on the table as he leaned towards them.

"You let go."

_Jesus, kid, if you want a target on your back that badly, there's paint in the supply room._ Diego's gaze flicked between Gavin and Machi. Gavin's calm expression carried an undercurrent of menace. Machi wore the glare of a young lion challenging his elder for a fresh kill.

"Or what?" Gavin asked. He squeezed Diego's jaw more tightly, and Diego bit his lip.

Machi didn't move. A faint smile appeared on his face, and Diego suddenly realised what he was up to. Standing like that, he could be seen above the other prisoners, and the screws – yep, here they came, drawn by Machi's stance, expecting trouble. Gavin abruptly released him and sat back in his seat.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing, _boss_," Gavin replied. He made eye contact with Diego for a split second. "Is there, Armando?"

Diego shook his head.

"No trouble," Machi agreed, sitting back down.

The guard who'd spoken looked at the three of them with disdain. "Hurry up and finish your food," he warned. "You don't have all day."

The guards all went back to their posts except for one, who hovered nearby, walking up and down between the tables. Gavin gave a wistful sigh and picked up his tray.

"I suppose we'll have to pick this up later," he said, getting up from the table. Diego didn't look up. He could still feel Gavin's fingers on his jaw. Bastard probably left bruises. Gavin turned to leave, pausing to address Machi. "And you, sir, made a foolish mistake this morning. A _very_ foolish mistake."

Diego could feel Machi's eyes on him as he resumed eating. He refused to look at him. _Call me an ungrateful bastard if you want, kid, whatever it takes to make you leave me alone, because Gavin's right. Never back a horse that's headed for the slaughterhouse. That's a rule._

After a few minutes, he heard the clink of metal against plastic as Machi started eating, too.


	4. No Exit

They'd put Diego on laundry detail when he'd come back from the hospital. Folding clothes didn't require physical strength or a lot of fine motor control. He'd been on laundry detail before, too. He'd had the stroke down here. He didn't remember much. There was no crushing headache, no nose-bleed, no blurred vision. Just numbness, and falling, and then unconsciousness. Gant was the one who yelled for help, or so the story went. Whoever it was, Diego wished they'd just kept their mouths shut.

They put Machi somewhere else. Maybe hoeing the prison garden or making licence plates. Diego was glad. The boy was a complication that he didn't need, sticking up for him to Gavin like that. Maybe it was just payback for the exercise yard. Maybe now that they were all square, Machi would distance himself. Get in with the others by kicking the cripple around.

Diego finished folding a shirt and brushed his good hand along it, smoothing it out before setting it aside. Way down at the back, where the dirty laundry was sorted, he could hear the usual snorting and laughter about comestains on sheets and skidmarks in shorts. Diego tuned it out.

The laundry room could be a dangerous place. Luke Atmey had been drowned in a washing machine a few years back. The guards kept a close watch on the inmates who had permission to handle detergents, but the occasional 'accident' still occurred, resulting in a con getting a faceful of bleach. Given the right level of distraction, a person might be able to sneak a lethal amount back to his cell.

Diego felt eyes on him and looked up. One of the screws was hanging around, watching him. Diego held his gaze for a few seconds, then returned to his task.

Machi was back at lunchtime. This time he simply took a seat two places down without asking. Gavin stayed away. Diego tried to enjoy his meal. It tasted like sawdust.

These days, Diego walked the exercise yard with his head down. He would never go unnoticed – his hair and visor meant that was impossible – but if he didn't look anyone in the eye, he drew less attention to himself. It also meant that he hadn't noticed Machi falling into step beside him until it was too late.

"So, you_ can't_ talk."

Here it came. Diego kept walking, and wondered which of the old-timers had sent Machi after him, or if the boy had come up with this on his own. Would he taunt him first or get straight to the beating? _Here's hoping you give 'em a good show, kid. And if you could scramble the rest of my brain while you're here, that'd be just fine._

"Why?"

The question was so unexpected that Diego stopped and looked at him. Machi gazed back. Diego stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he realised how ridiculous it was to ask a dummy why he couldn't talk. Maybe this was the taunt, right here. But there was nothing but honest curiosity in Machi's blue eyes.

Diego was stumped. He could say "stroke", just about, but there was no way he was going to do that out here. After a moment's consideration, he lifted his good hand and drew a line through his hair, on the side of his head where they'd told him it had happened.

Machi frowned at him in puzzlement. "Something happen in brain?"

Kid was sharp. Diego nodded.

Machi pointed. "Leg too?"

Diego nodded again.

"And eyes?"

Diego sighed and shook his head. He hoped the boy was out of questions. He didn't want to have to try miming "poison" and "coma".

"Hey! Tobaye!"

Machi turned around and Diego followed his gaze. Crescend was standing a few feet away. There was a fading purple bruise on his cheek from the fight two days earlier. His hands were down at his sides, loosely curled into fists.

"Just want you to know, I'm ready for round two any time," he snarled. "You might've been Boss Big Shot in the kiddie prison, but that don't mean squat around here." He nodded at Diego. "And don't count on Mush Mouth to protect you, either."

Diego reached out and grasped Machi's shirtsleeve tightly with his good hand as Crescend walked away. He told himself it was just a reflex. It had nothing to do with the look of intense, murderous fury that had settled on Machi's face.

Diego found himself thinking about that look over dinner, tuning out Gavin's usual taunting and mockery. Machi had really gone for Crescend during the fight, and it wasn't because Crescend had kicked a cripple's legs from under him. Diego didn't know much about what Crescend was in for, other than that he'd shot an Interpol agent and been exposed by the same attorney that took Gavin down – Apollo Justice, Trite's protégé. Diego couldn't place Machi's accent, but judging by his use of English he wasn't a native speaker. Probably European, maybe Russian. Gavin had called him "Wingdings", the slang term for Borginians. Maybe Machi was involved with Crescend's original crime. Maybe that was why he was here instead of home with his parents, trying to salvage what was left of his childhood.

Diego blinked as Gavin stood up impatiently and left. He'd said something, but Diego could only remember the tone of it – sharp and irritated. He allowed himself a brief smirk. Apparently zoning out like that had really pissed Gavin off. He looked to the side, at Machi sitting two seats down.

_What's your deal, kid?_

Diego shook himself. What did he care? He was checking out, just as soon as he found the departures gate. Whatever beef Machi had with Crescend didn't matter.

The screws took him aside and patted him down before they let him leave the mess hall. Diego stared at them in surprise as they did it. It wasn't unusual for them to conduct random searches, but they'd let everyone else through so far. He shrugged it off, letting it slip to the back of his mind, just like the guard who'd been watching him in the laundry room.

He'd been back in his cell for about twenty minutes, sitting on his bunk and wondering if he could take his brace apart, maybe find a sharp enough edge to open an artery, that he realised there was someone else on the block.

Diego got up and went to the bars of his cell. Sure enough, a screw was slowly making his rounds, even though he was the only prisoner there.

Diego shoved at the bars in a rage. They had him on observation. That straw-haired rat bastard little punk had squealed about the noose. He stormed around the tiny narrow space, swinging at the air with his good fist. He couldn't wait for Machi to get back up here. Stroke or not, he was going to beat his narrow blond ass till he learned to mind his own damn business.

The rattle of a nightstick on the bars drew his attention.

"Why don't you lay yourself down, Armando?" the screw suggested with a sardonic grin. "An invalid like you should save his strength."

Diego flipped him off. As soon as the guard was out of sight, he did lie down. No point exhausting himself before his cellmate got back.

He stewed on his bunk for almost two hours before the sound of the other prisoners arriving on the block filtered down to his cell. Diego tensed his muscles, clenching his good hand into a fist, as the cell door was opened and Machi stepped inside. Carefully, quietly, he manoeuvred his body into position.

As soon as he heard the sound of footsteps moving away down the block, Diego surged forward. He took Machi by surprise, shoving him against the wall with his bad hand and delivering a hard cross to the face with his good one. Once upon a time a hit like that would've easily broken the boy's jaw, but his strength was gone and he barely rattled Machi's teeth. That fact only made Diego angrier. He fisted both hands in Machi's shirt and pushed him into the wall, feeling a surge of satisfaction when the boy's head connected briefly with the concrete. The sound of running feet echoed up the corridor and Diego let go. Machi dropped to his knees and Diego got in one kick with his bad leg before backing off.

"Is okay!" Machi coughed as the guards arrived, gesturing to them to stay outside. "I fall." They didn't look convinced as Machi slowly pushed himself to his feet. "I fall," he repeated.

The screw in charge gazed at the scene for a few minutes, then nodded.

"Okay," he said. "If that's how you want it. Be more careful in the future, you hear?"

Diego gave the guards a pointed look as they left, then turned his glare on Machi. The boy stared up at him defiantly, his arms still cradling his stomach.

"I have to tell!" he hissed. "You save me in yard!"

Diego stared at him in disbelief. _Well, no good deed goes unpunished, kid._ He turned away from Machi's rapidly purpling face and rolled onto his bunk, facing the wall.


	5. Intervention

_Hospital. The click of a respirator, the beep of an EKG monitor. Thin cotton blankets that might as well have been made of steel. Cold needles, one in each arm. An umbilical cord of plastic attached to a placenta made of microchips. Alive and not alive._

"_How many times do I have to say this? Mr. Godot is a potato. Wrap him in aluminum foil, smear on some sour cream and chives and oh what the hell, go right ahead and sprinkle him with bacon bits, I missed my protein fix today." The doctor grunted in annoyance and herded the med students out of the room._

_He could see her. He was unconscious and blind but he could see her. Staring at him with dry, disinterested eyes._

"_Oh well."_

_Her lover was a shifting mix of Wright and Hawthorne. He couldn't feel them when they landed on his bed, kissing, groping, making a mockery of everything he'd ever felt for her._

"_Oh, now…"_

_The doctor stood in the doorway, arms folded, shaking his head._

"…_now that's just unhygienic."_

Diego woke up.

He fumbled for his visor and put it on, then rolled out of his bunk and wiped the mess of tears and drool off his bad cheek. He hobbled over to the toilet and took a leak. The dawn light was starting to filter through the tiny, barred window of the cell. It fell on Machi's sleeping face. Four small, circular bruises lay along his chin, gone bluish-purple overnight. Diego looked away and tried not to care.

At breakfast, Diego found himself with only Gavin for company.

"Oh, dear." Gavin nodded at the empty chair two seats down. "Is the great love affair over? Your riveting conversation not enough to keep him interested?"

Diego kept his eyes on his meal. He wished he'd beaten the hell out of Gavin when he'd had the chance. A cowardly poisoner, just like Hawthorne, except he picked on little girls. And while Diego had no love for Trite, when he heard the full story behind the man's disbarment he felt like Gavin had done it to Mia. But he'd held off, because if he started in on Gavin, he might not be able to stop. And there was a chance of parole, a chance – a third chance, one he didn't deserve – of rejoining society and making a normal life for himself. If he'd known his brain would blow a fuse and leave him a shuffling, silent zombie, he would've stomped on Gavin's stomach till his organs ruptured. One less slimy waste of oxygen in the world.

_xxx_

"Mr. Armando, it's quite common for stroke victims to suffer from depression following their illness."

Diego couldn't remember the psychiatrist's name, and he didn't particularly care. He stared disinterestedly as the man shuffled through the papers on his desk. _One last quick revision before you look up and pretend you know me, eh Doc?_

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Diego just stared at him.

The doctor gazed back. "It says here you completed speech therapy before returning to prison."

Diego looked away. When the doctor didn't say anything, he shook his head and waved a hand in front of his mouth.

"You don't have to be self-conscious," the doctor said gently. "No-one's going to make fun of you here."

Diego sighed. _You don't get it, do you, doc? I can't make the goddamn WORDS any more to tell you how I feel. Believe me, I'd love to tell you all about how being the prison entertainment makes me feel. And I bet you're dying to tell me why my unconscious has suddenly decided that Mia never loved me, when the only thing that's kept me going all these years is the thought that somewhere, somehow, she was still waiting for me. Bet you'd love to mouth some platitudes about grieving and moving on, wouldn't you?_

The doctor looked through the file again. "According to this, you haven't received a visitor in quite some time," he remarked. "That can't be easy."

Diego looked away, stroking the top ridge of his visor. Maya – poor Maya – she'd tried so hard in the beginning, coming up every month, asking him how he was, telling him it was okay and she knew he'd done what he had to do… Time was supposed to be this great healer, but in her case it just made things worse. He could see it in her face, every visit. More time to think about it, more time to realise all the things he could've, should've done differently, if he hadn't been such a selfish bastard out for his own salvation. Pearl getting older, asking questions and hunting down the answers instead of letting everything rest. Eventually he told her _it's okay, kitten, you don't have to come here anymore. Go take care of yourself, you don't owe me anything, not even your life – I'm the one who put you in danger to begin with._ And she tried to smile and said she'd think about it, but she never came back. It was the last time he'd had any contact with her.

"Must be lonely."

Diego stared at him. _No, doc. You know what loneliness is? Loneliness is when you bust your cellmate's lip for leaking your departure plans, for hanging around you like a mangy stray, for rushing to defend you like you have some power in this shithouse instead of being the damn rodeo clown. And then, when you've scared him off and he doesn't sit with you at breakfast – ha…! You miss him. THAT'S loneliness, doc. That's how desperate I am for anyone to treat me like a man instead of a joke._

The doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I have some flash cards," he leaned down for his briefcase, "that might make things easier –"

"Sad."

It came out soft and slurred, so inadequate and yet so perfect that Diego didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But at least it was better than pointing to a picture of a crying face like a pre-schooler.

The doctor stopped with his briefcase and sat up again.

"I see." Diego didn't look at him as he reached for a notepad. "Well, I'm going to start you on some antidepressants, and we'll keep you on observation for a while. How does that sound?"

Diego glowered at him. _Sure, doc, that's what I need – more damn pills. You want to help me? Change those happy pills into sleeping pills, and let me wash down a big handful with that bottle of scotch you keep in your desk. That's right, I know. We ALL know._

The doctor buzzed for one of the screws to come and take him back to his cell. "I'll see you next week, Mr. Armando."

Diego smirked at him briefly. _Can't wait, doc. Really._

_xxx_

The days resumed their long, slow march, blurring together into one vast expanse of grey. Machi avoided him, he had a weekly staring match with the shrink, and the anti-depressants didn't do a damn thing.

"I not sorry."

It was the first time Machi had spoken to him since he'd socked him in the jaw. He was sitting on his bunk, waiting his turn for the toilet while Diego took a leak. Diego finished up and went to stare out through the bars of their cell.


	6. Payback

Tigre bided his time once he was out of the infirmary. After the first week, fresh fish would've figured they were in the clear. For an old-timer like Diego, the anticipation just made things worse.

He was folding clothes when he heard the sounds of a ruckus down at the far end of the laundry room – just loud and serious enough to draw the guards' attention. It was almost a relief, knowing the wait was finally over.

Almost.

It still took him by surprise when someone smashed something blunt and heavy right across the small of his back, throwing him forward against the dryer and sending a shockwave of pain radiating into all four of his limbs. They wrenched his visor off as his legs collapsed, before grabbing his arms and throwing him down onto his back.

"I bin waitin' a long time fer dis."

Still breathless from the first hit, Diego couldn't scream when Tigre delivered a stamping kick to his groin.

Distantly he heard them drop his visor and scatter, and a while later, somewhere very far away a screw muttered, "Aw, _shit."_ But the world had shrunk to the pain in his back and his rapidly swelling balls, and the thought _I didn't fight back, I knew it was coming and I didn't fight back._

They were watching him in the mess hall as he slowly moved along the line, barely able to walk. Diego kept his eyes down but he knew they were watching. Both his arms shook badly, the lines still scrambled from that first hit to his back. His tray began to tilt, everything sliding. He was going to drop his food and then Tigre would have his chance to crow over him, and the screws would never know what it was really about.

And then suddenly there was a hand covering his bad hand, stabilising the tray, and another resting tentatively on his sore, burning back, and he was being guided to his usual table. Diego's first thought, as he turned to look, was that a screw or cafeteria worker had taken pity on him.

It was Machi.

Diego didn't know what to think as Machi gently set the tray on the table and helped Diego to lower himself into his chair, except _you've lost your place in line now, kid, all the non-cardboard stuff will be gone._

"I sit here," Machi offered quietly. He was crouching down so as not to be heard, one hand resting on Diego's good shoulder. The bruises on his chin were nearly gone.

Diego stared at his food. His hands were still shaking and he knew he was going to make a bigger mess than usual, and he didn't want anyone… he didn't want _Machi_ to see. He shook his head.

Machi patted him gently on the shoulder. "Okay."

Diego watched as he stood up and walked back to the line, ignoring the jeers and catcalls of "Cripple-fucker" and "If you wanted a sugar daddy…" from the other prisoners. _What the hell did you just do, kid? You better hope they stop at words._

He stared at his meal, gripping his fork tightly to keep his fingers from shaking.

_But damn, am I glad you did it._

_xxx_

Ever since he'd been put on the anti-depressants, the screws kept moving Diego on in the exercise yard, making him walk more than usual. In case the new meds made him fat. He'd snorted when they told him – he'd been slowly wasting for over a decade. Today they were letting him be. Maybe they couldn't stand to watch him painfully drag himself around the perimeter, hobbling with his legs apart because his nuts still hurt. Maybe they figured there wasn't much chance of him gaining weight when a good quarter of his lunch had ended up on his shirt. Diego didn't care. He'd managed to find a comfortable position, sitting in a patch of dusty, sun-warm dirt, and right now everyone was leaving him alone.

A shadow fell across him, and he closed his eyes briefly. _So much for peace and quiet._

"Why you save me?"

Diego looked up as Machi sat down beside him.

"That man – Big Orange – he beat you," Machi continued. "You know that when you tackle him." He shrugged, a confused look on his face. "I stranger, so why?"

Diego gazed at his feet and let out a sigh. He leaned over and rubbed a thumb through the peach fuzz on Machi's chin.

Machi leaned away, a wary, frightened look on his face. "You want to fuck me?"

Diego shook his head emphatically. He held his hand out flat, palm down, and lowered it.

Machi visibly relaxed. "I young."

Diego nodded. He smirked, stretched his arms out wide, and made the "young" gesture again.

"I very young," Machi guessed. An indignant look appeared on his face. "I not boy," he insisted, "I man."

Diego couldn't resist teasing him a little bit. He ran his thumb through his own beard, then along Machi's nearly smooth jaw, and shrugged.

A faint grin appeared on Machi's face.

"In Borginia, only old woman have beard," he replied.

Diego smirked back at him. _Getting brave now, huh?_ His smirk faded as he suddenly realised how much he wanted to banter with Machi, and how most of the quips that came to mind didn't readily translate into hand signals.

But there was something he could do.

He tugged at Machi's sleeve, making sure he had his attention, then lifted his good hand and slowly, laboriously, began to scrawl his five favourite letters in the dirt.

When he was finished, Machi stared at them in puzzlement. He pronounced it "die go."

Diego smirked and shook his head. _Stick around, kid, we've got plenty of time._ He started again, underlining each syllable and waiting for Machi to run through the different pronunciations until he got the right one. And at long last, Machi was able to put it all together.

"Dee-ay-go." Machi looked up at him. Diego nodded and pushed his thumb into his own chest. Understanding dawned, and Machi smiled. "That your name. Diego."

Diego nodded again. He tried to ignore the warm feeling inside when Machi repeated his name, more quietly this time as if making an effort to remember it.

"We friends now?" Machi asked hopefully.

Diego began to shrug, trying to think of a way to express _there are no friends in prison, kid_ without words. And then abruptly, some part of him decided _oh, what the hell_, and he nodded instead.

The smile that spread across Machi's face was worth it.

_xxx_

Diego's hands were much steadier at dinner, much to his relief. He knew that Machi would've helped him again if he needed it, but it was a sign of weakness. And even though everybody already knew what a wreck his body was, he'd still felt compromised and exposed.

He was also a little disturbed by just how comforting it had felt, having Machi's hands on him.

Gavin was waiting for him when he reached the table, sitting opposite Diego's usual chair. Diego stared at his food as he sat down anyway. He wouldn't give Gavin the satisfaction of making him sit somewhere else. Besides which, Gavin would probably move seats to match him.

"I thought you should know," Gavin started, pushing his glasses up his nose in a way that always made Diego want to punch him, "that after your… performance at lunchtime, some of the boys have a little wager as to how much of that you'll manage to get in your mouth." He picked up a spoon and had a delicate mouthful of frozen peas before continuing. "So I'll be watching you _very _closely this evening."

Diego tried to ignore him as he picked up his knife and fork. It wasn't easy, though, and to his anger he began to blush as he cut up his carrots into manageable pieces. When he switched his fork into his good hand, speared a mouthful of food and clumsily closed his lips around it, he swore he felt Gavin's gaze intensify.

"Now then," and Diego wished he could leap over the table and jam his fork into Gavin's throat, "let's see where it goes…in your belly, or on your shirt."

Diego chewed carefully, ignoring the stream of drool that slowly dripped out of the bad side of his mouth. He couldn't do anything about that, but he could do his damnedest to keep any food from leaking out with it.

"This my seat."

Diego stopped and looked up.

Machi was standing over Gavin, a steely expression on his face.

Gavin stared up at him with a look of amusement.

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"This. My. Seat," Machi repeated. "Move."

Gavin slowly leaned back in his chair. He gave his glasses the barest of adjustments before folding his arms across his stomach.

"Planning to make me, are you?" he asked, a nasty little smile on his face. "Go ahead, Mr. Tobaye. Do your worst. You'll get no resistance, I promise you. Just a long spell in solitary." He sat up a little straighter, and the smile disappeared. "And I'll spend every minute that you're in there making Armando miserable."

Machi did his best to keep calm, but his grip on his tray tightened until his knuckles turned white. The little smile was back on Gavin's face as the older man looked up at him, daring him to make a move. The boy wasn't ready to budge, but his courage was fading, hackles slowly going down the longer he thought about it.

And suddenly Diego knew what he had to do. It was so perfect that he wondered why it had never occurred to him before.

He swept his tongue around his mouth, gathering up as much pureed carrot and drool as he could, then leaned over and deposited the gooey, orange mouthful right in Gavin's meal.

The look that appeared on Gavin's face suggested that Diego had instead dropped his pants and pinched off a nice fresh loaf on his plate. The colour drained out of him, his eyes went wide with shock and revulsion, his mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Diego began to laugh. It was the mad cackling of the damned but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around his sides and leaned back in his chair, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Gavin's expression changed to one of utter rage.

"You –"

He lunged, but before he could move more than an inch, Machi's hand landed on his shoulder, pushing him back in his chair.

"My seat," Machi repeated. The two blonds stared at each other for a moment, before Gavin snatched up his tray and stormed off, leaving only a spluttered, "DISGUSTING!" in his wake.

Diego began to calm down. He picked up his napkin and wiped his face, still chuckling as Machi slipped into Gavin's vacant seat. Machi smiled at him, a big, wide, toothy grin, and offered him a high five. Diego took it, snapping his fingers afterwards. _You realise we're both gonna pay for that, don't you kid? Gavin won't like you taking his favourite toy away, and he sure as hell won't like the cripple making a fool of him._ But right then it didn't matter. Even Machi sitting face to face with him, getting a front row seat for the drool and the mess, didn't matter. Hell, that night even the cheap prison chow tasted good.


	7. More than Words

So now they were two, patrolling the exercise yard like a pair of outcast lions. The new alliance between the prison whipping boys drew a lot of unwelcome attention, but together they were harder, better, faster, stronger.

"Hey! Cripple-fucker! His peg-leg get in the way, cripple-fucker?"

Diego caught Machi's eye, pushed his nose up slightly with his finger, and gave a slight thrust with his hips.

"Better cripple-fucker than pig-fucker!" Machi shouted back.

"I bet he sucks real nice with that droopy mouth, huh?"

Diego tapped the side of his head in puzzlement, and gestured between himself and Machi.

"Why you always ask what we do together?" Machi called. "You some sort of queer?"

"Hey Hopalong, how's it feel cornholing the new kid? Can you even get your dick to stand up any more?"

This time Machi didn't need prompting. "He say bend over and find out!"

Of course, there were physical consequences for Diego's cocky, crooked smirk and Machi's increasingly well-educated mouth. When they met in the mess hall after work detail, they often wore matching bruises. But after a few weeks the punishment dropped off, and the jeering decreased to the occasional lewd remark. Gradually it was accepted that, as a rule, where the cripple Armando went, the kid Tobaye went with him. That fact was enough to deter both old-timers and newcomers looking for someone to kick around. The wary, timid look was fading from Machi's eyes, replaced by something more confident. And despite his physical weaknesses, Diego felt the old swagger beginning to return to his clumsy, stiff-legged gait.

He told himself not to get too attached. As Machi settled in, the chances that he would decide Diego was a liability and cut him off in favour of younger, able-bodied allies only increased. But damn if it didn't feel good, after so many years of being completely, utterly alone, to finally have a friend.

_xxx_

There was no work detail on Sunday. Mail and library books were passed out, football games were organised, and sometimes they were all herded into the mess hall and treated to a movie. This Sunday Diego lay on his bunk, half-reading _The Mask of Zorro_ and watching in amusement as Machi tacked up a calendar on the wall. It was part of a care package, along with a lengthy letter and a big bag of candy bars that the screws were holding for him. Sweets were as precious as cigarettes – the closest thing to dessert in the big house was the near-flavourless jello block served at dinner.

The last thing Diego had received in the mail was a letter from Pearl. She'd been about sixteen, he guessed, and in it she'd told him exactly what she thought of him and what he'd done. He'd read it through, slowly, three times, then bummed a match from another inmate and burned it.

"When your birthday?"

Machi's voice roused Diego from the gloomy memory, and he looked over at him. Machi had marked a date in January with a piece of sticky tack, and now he flipped to the current month. "Mine gone already. When yours?"

Diego smirked and shook his head. Machi crossed to the bunks and leaned on the frame, smiling. "When. Your. Birthday?"

Diego gave a mock sigh and rolled off his bunk. He shuffled up to the calendar and took a look at it. The pictures were all landscapes – a girly calendar would probably have been confiscated. "Scenes from Borginia" was printed on the top of each page in English, with Borginian pictograms underneath. Someone had probably visited there recently, and that was why Machi was getting the calendar now, with part of the year already gone. Diego flipped ahead to July, and gestured for Machi to give him some of the sticky tack. As he pressed it against the right date, he heard Mia's voice, teasing gently as they lay together in bed, warm summer sunlight streaming through the window.

"_I hope you don't expect this every birthday, Armando."_

His twenty-eighth was the last birthday he'd ever celebrated. He'd been asleep for his thirtieth, here for his fortieth. He would be here for his fiftieth, maybe his sixtieth if he lived that long. Here instead of with Mia, having creaky, careful old-people sex once the grandchildren had all gone home. The clock had stopped for him that day in August, twenty-eight in his mind forever while his body sped downhill towards old age. God, would it really be eighteen years since he'd last held Mia in his arms?

Machi tugged gently at his sleeve.

"You okay?"

Diego tried to shake it off, and offered Machi a lopsided smile. He pointed to the calendar and flipped through it from January to December.

"Is my home," Machi offered.

Diego shook his head. He flipped through the calendar again, then began to count off on his fingers.

"Oh," Machi replied, nodding. "Three years. I here till I twenty-one. You?"

Diego gave a faint smile. He held his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other, and moved them till they were wide apart.

Machi nodded. Diego cast a last look at the calendar, and went back to his bunk. Machi walked to the bars and called out to the screws.

"Hey boss, I have my chocolate now?"

Diego picked up his book and tried to find his place. The mattress creaked and he looked up as Machi joined him.

"They only give me one," Machi said in disappointment. There was a snap as he broke the candy bar in half. "Here."

Diego looked at him for a few seconds, then accepted the chocolate with a smile. He turned away slightly as he chewed, conscious of the sweetened drool leaking into his beard.

Machi nudged him with his elbow, and offered a spare napkin he'd taken from the mess hall. Diego accepted, mopping the slime off his chin. Machi grinned at him, then pulled himself up into his bunk to read his letter.

_xxx_

"_This represents the very latest technological advancement in medical __**criminal**__ science __**punishment**__."_

_Darkness imprisoned him, as it had every day since he could remember. He couldn't move, his arms and legs so unresponsive he wondered if they were even there anymore. Couldn't turn his head, move his lips, open his eyes. Unfeeling as the dead._

"_The patient __**subject**__ has now been in a persistent vegetative state for eighteen years."_

_Applause. Sobbing._

"_As you know, that is long enough for a lion cub to grow into a man."_

_Applause. Sobbing._

"_Stop, stop! I don't care what he's done, I can't stand to see him like this!"_

_You can't cry, kitten. Crying means it's all over, and it's not all over. I'm still in here, kitten, they're giving me something so I can't move, and if you don't give up hope you can find out what it is and make them stop, make this right –_

_Crashing. Screaming._

"_Please! Please…" Sobbing. "…please, let me switch him off!"_

_MIa!_

"Diego!"

He jerked awake and threw out an arm at the demon still shaking him.

"Diego, you having bad dream!"

Diego froze, then relaxed at the sound of Machi's voice. He rolled over and groped on the floor for his visor, then slid it on. Machi was crouching by the bed, dressed only in his boxer shorts. His pale blue eyes were wide with worry.

"Okay?" he asked.

Diego looked away. _No, kid, I'm really not, and having an audience doesn't help._

Machi chuckled nervously. "You moan so loud, at first I think is sex dream…"

Diego scooted off the bunk without looking at him and walked to the bars. He wrapped his bad hand around them and leaned against the cool metal.

He didn't realise Machi had come up behind him until he felt an arm snake around his waist. Still on edge from the nightmare and ashamed of how badly it had shaken him, Diego jerked away and spun around.

Machi backed up a pace as Diego glared at him.

"I – I sorry," he said quickly. He gestured to Diego's good arm. "I see you do it when you sad."

Frightened and angry, Diego lashed out and caught Machi right across the ear. Machi stumbled from the impact, Diego stumbled from the delivery, and then Machi stared at him with shocked, hurt eyes before scrambling back up into his bunk.

Diego sank to the floor, took off his visor and ran a hand through his hair. _Good one, Armando. Kid tries to help you and you cuff him for his trouble. _He smirked bitterly in the darkness. _No wonder you don't have any friends._

_xxx_

He was surprised when Machi joined him for breakfast the next morning, but the feeling quickly gave way to a pang of guilt. Where else was he gonna go? Machi kept his eyes on his bowl as he ate, no faster and no slower than usual. Diego felt worse when he realised there was no anger in the boy, only fear. He had to make this right.

They were always the last out of the mess hall. Machi always waited for him to finish, and even after what had happened, today was no exception. As Machi put their trays with the rest of the dirty dishes, Diego laid a hand on his shoulder. Machi stopped and looked up at him, frightened and wary.

Diego's shoulders slumped. He'd put that look back on the boy's face, right when he'd almost found his roar. He brushed Machi's shaggy blond mane away from his ear. It was still a little red. Diego ghosted his fingertips over it.

He took a deep breath and let it out, wondering how to say _I'm sorry_ without words. He found himself wishing the visor didn't hide so much of his face – maybe Machi would be able to see it in his eyes. Diego ran a hand through his hair, then held it out in front of him, palm facing him, while he struggled for a way to get his message across. _I know what you were trying to do, kid. And you know what? I wanted it. That's what scared me. This place, it gets in your head – makes you link emotion with weakness._

Diego dropped his hand and looked away, shaking his head slightly. Useless.

"I accept."

Diego looked up sharply. Machi was gazing at him with a warm smile.

"You sorry," Machi clarified.

Diego nodded, a smile spreading across his own face. He put his arm around Machi's shoulders and squeezed briefly before letting him go.

And when Machi put his arm around Diego's shoulders, and left it there as they walked out of the mess hall, Diego let himself enjoy it.


	8. Lions in the Dark

Ever since Diego had had his stroke, coffee was just hot liquid to him – as flat and as _nothing_ as the rest of his lonely world. But lately, colours and scents and flavours were starting to return, slowly banishing the dull greyness that had taken over. He was keenly aware of them now, sitting in the rec room with the single cup of coffee he was permitted a day. Prison coffee wasn't up to much, but he was savouring each small mouthful, the rich scent, the deliciously dark and bitter flavour. It was like an old friend coming home.

Diego wrapped both hands around the warm mug and inhaled deeply. The smell brought back a flood of memories, and for a change he found himself dwelling on the good instead of the bad. He didn't know if it was the anti-depressants, or if it was having someone he could communicate with, but either way Machi was responsible. Diego wished he could do something for him, instead of simply offering silent company.

He got his chance later that month.

It was visiting day, and Machi always looked forward to it. The blind woman – although she could see now thanks to an operation, Machi had told him – who'd raised him since he was four came up every month without fail to see him. Sometimes she brought her daughter, and Machi confessed shyly that he found her very pretty, even though she was technically his sister. He bounced around on cloud nine after the visits, and Diego was glad. The boy was so young, and getting out so soon, he deserved to have a loving family waiting for him.

So it shocked and worried him when he saw Machi in the rec room, sitting listless and droopy in front of the TV, after visiting hours. Diego shuffled over and, with difficulty, hunkered down next to him. He laid a hand on Machi's shoulder and peered at his face.

Machi glanced at him briefly, didn't smile, and shook his head. Wincing, Diego moved around to look him in the eyes. Machi lowered his head, but Diego stood his ground, ignoring the protests of his bad leg. Finally Machi looked at him.

"I…I tell you later," he mumbled.

Diego took a deep breath and let it out, then stood up. He patted Machi on the shoulder and took a seat a few yards away to give him some space. He hoped the boy hadn't gotten bad news – or been stood up. He remembered when Maya finally stopped visiting. The second and third months were much worse than the first one. Diego hoped that wasn't going to happen to Machi. He'd never expected Maya to visit him in the first place, and she had every right to leave him to rot alone, and still it had hurt when she stopped. If Machi's _family_ – who until now had been loving and supportive – had turned their backs on him…

Diego didn't want to think about it.

He did his best not to worry as Machi poked apathetically at his dinner, his head resting in his hand as he stared off into space. Diego knew he would have to wait till they were back in their cell to find out what was bothering him.

Machi seemed determined to avoid the subject, however, and when the screws called "lights out" and he _still_ hadn't told Diego what was bothering him, Diego decided to take matters into his own hands. He touched Machi's arm before the boy could swing himself up into his bunk. Machi stepped back, and Diego sat on his own bed. He patted the mattress beside him. Reluctantly, Machi joined him.

Diego gazed at him, and gave a slight shrug. Machi looked at his hands.

"Is nothing."

Diego kept looking at him.

Machi rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. "Is…" He broke off, and started again. "Is this place. In Juvenile Hall, when visitor come we sit at table, we get to touch." He looked up at Diego. "Visitor come one, two weeks. Is like I at school." Machi looked down again. "Here is glass and telephone, and only once a month."

Diego tilted his head, mouth turning down as he frowned behind his mask. _Don't bullshit a bullshitter, kid. That stuff never bothered you before._

Machi glanced at him, saw the change in his body language, and sighed. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and let his arm drop back to his side.

"She bring her real son with her."

Diego looked at him in surprise. Machi had never mentioned a "brother" before.

"They spend day together," Machi explained. His voice wavered slightly as he continued. "Come see me after. She say she find him after I start my jail." He broke off, his chest hitching slightly. "She spend time with him all those years and never tell me."

Gingerly, Diego put his arm around Machi's shoulders. The boy tensed at first, but didn't pull away, and after a few seconds Diego left his arm where it was.

"He lawyer," Machi went on. He gave a brief, watery smile. "He _my_ lawyer. He very famous now, good job, big money." He stared down at his hands. "I in here."

Diego lifted the arm on Machi's shoulders and tentatively rested his hand on Machi's hair.

Machi cringed at his touch, and Diego stopped.

"I not boy," he insisted shakily.

But he was, he was still only a boy, and he missed his mom. _It's nothing to be ashamed of, kid. Even cynical old wrecks on the wrong side of forty sometimes miss their moms._ Very gently, Diego began to run his fingers through Machi's curly blond locks. Machi shuddered and Diego nearly let go, but then Machi leaned into him, resting his head against Diego's shoulder.

"What if she forget me?"

Diego shook his head. _Never happen, kid, no matter how many hot-shot older brothers come out of the woodwork. You may not be her blood, but she's been visiting regularly for four years, and I've seen the care packages she sends you. She won't forget. She loves you._

With no way to say all that, Diego just kept stroking Machi's hair, and hoped he understood.

They stayed like that long enough for Diego's shoulder to start aching. Finally Machi let out a deep, shaky sigh, and sat up, gently pulling away from Diego's embrace.

"So…" He gave his eyes a quick wipe. "That why I sad today." He looked at Diego and managed a smile. "Thank you."

Diego patted Machi's bare knee, and smiled back. He lay down as Machi clambered into the top bunk.

_Any time, kid._


	9. Creeping Dawn

A couple of weeks later, Machi asked a question Diego had both expected and dreaded for some time.

"Diego, what you do?"

They were in their cell again, Diego sitting on his bunk while Machi leaned against the opposite wall, trying to be casual. Diego swallowed and looked at his hands. He was surprised that Machi hadn't asked sooner, but he did wonder if something had prompted him to ask now, to find out what exactly had cuddled him that night and chased the bad thoughts away. He wondered if someone had said something to him. The cell opposite theirs was occupied at the moment, and it was possible that they had been seen. Portsman had been here almost as long as Diego, and he knew to keep his head down – his cockiness and swagger had been beaten out of him very quickly. But Yogi…that old bastard saw and heard _everything_, and he was a law unto himself. He might well have murmured something quiet and poisonous to Machi, just for the hell of it.

Machi shifted his weight nervously while he waited, and Diego looked up. He wasn't ashamed of – no, that wasn't right – he'd never made a secret of what he'd done. He was a murderer, always would be. And yet he didn't want Machi to shy away, to look at him differently. But if he didn't tell him the truth, someone else would – or tell him a lie that was much, much worse.

Diego sighed, then drew his finger across his throat.

Machi gulped.

"Murder?"

Diego nodded.

Machi took a deep breath and let it out. "How many?"

Diego held up one finger. Before Machi could ask the next question, he raised both his hands and traced an hourglass figure in the air.

Machi's eyes never left the floor. "You kill a woman."

Diego nodded.

An awkward, heavy silence filled the air. Finally, Diego lay down and rolled over to face the wall. A few minutes later, he heard Machi climb into the top bunk.

_Ha…! Could've been worse, I guess._ Diego slid his visor off and tucked one arm under his pillow. At least he hadn't had to make a gesture for "child". By far the worst part of the murder was the relief that had washed over him while he was still staring stupidly at Misty Fey's corpse. He hadn't been able to figure out the reason for it until hours later when he ran into Pearl, cold and crying for her cousin, and realised _it could have been her, I nearly butchered a little kid instead._ He couldn't blame her for hating his guts. All he could do was hope that she wouldn't let her anger and hatred poison her, like her mother had.

Like he had.

_xxx_

_His vision was drenched in blood, standing out red against the white snow. It was all over him, all over the ground, all over her. Lifeless, glassy eyes stared accusingly at him. The smell hung thick and heavy in the air, and he couldn't move, the horror of it…so much blood in such a tiny body…_

"Diego!"

Half-awake, he cried out and lurched away, sure the corpse had spoken. But a second later the nightmare faded to comforting darkness. Diego did his best to compose himself, then reached out tentatively with his good hand, trying to feel where the edge of the bed was. He heard movement, and then his visor was pushed into his hands. He put it on and looked up. Machi was crouching by the bed.

"Sorry," he whispered. "It sound bad, so…" He backed up a few steps while Diego hauled himself into a sitting position and tried to stop shaking. He hadn't had that dream for a long time. He wrapped his good arm around his waist. Machi caught his eye, and quickly looked away, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

Diego shifted so that his back was to Machi, and then lay down again. He was glad the boy had woken him from the nightmare, but he hated being seen like this – haunted and vulnerable. The mattress creaked as Machi put one foot on Diego's bunk and prepared to climb back into his own bed. But instead of the beds shifting as Machi hauled himself into the top bunk, the mattress creaked again and the structure settled.

"I don't think you bad man, Diego."

Diego half-turned and looked over his shoulder. Machi was holding onto the frame with one hand, both feet on the floor now.

"I think you did a bad thing," he continued. He brought his free hand to his own chest. "And it hurt you here. A bad man… feel nothing about what he do."

Diego looked away. _Objection, kiddo. How I feel about what I did doesn't change the fact that I did it. You're just making up a story so you'll feel better about liking me._

He tried to ignore the warm, comforting feeling that had settled in his stomach when Machi had spoken.

Machi prepared to mount the beds again, then paused.

"I stay if you like," he offered quietly.

Diego looked at him. He knew he should tell him no, that this was dangerously close to letting Machi all the way in, and despite how well they got along and how much he enjoyed the boy's company, the fact remained that there were no friends in prison. This was just the sort of thing that could be used against him, and besides, what right did he have to be comforted? He deserved the guilt and the nightmares for what he'd done.

But there had been no-one for a very long time, even right back at the beginning when he finally awoke from the coma that had taken so much from him. No-one to hold his hand or touch his back and tell him it was all right, to offer something more lasting than rage and grief to help him put himself back together. His broken soul overruled his judgement, and he nodded.

Machi gingerly sat down at the far end of the bed, taking care not to jog Diego's bad leg. He leaned against the frame and offered Diego a brief smile. Diego didn't return it. He faced the wall again, and felt the mattress shift slightly as Machi made himself more comfortable.

Diego was suddenly reminded of the time in fifth grade when he'd been miserably sick with the flu, unable to sleep for vivid and terrifying fever dreams. His father, a real man's man who normally left everything kid-related to his wife, spent the night sitting at the end of his bed, chasing away the bad dreams and soothing him back to sleep. Diego felt like that now – like Machi was standing guard over him, keeping his demons at bay. It was stupidly romantic, but it was working. Diego began to relax, and finally slipped into a doze.

_xxx_

He drifted awake to find the darkness slowly lightening to grey. After a few seconds of confusion, Diego realised he'd fallen asleep with his visor still on. He rolled onto his back and stretched, his legs brushing up against something warm and solid. Diego blinked in puzzlement, then half-sat up and looked down at the end of the bed. Machi was fast asleep on his back, using his arms as a pillow. He also had a healthy case of morning wood. Diego chuckled and scooted down the bed. Cute as it was, it would be bad for them both if the other cons woke up and saw them like this. He shook Machi on the shoulder with his good hand. The boy moaned as he stirred, and Diego began to gently nudge him onto his side. Still ninety per cent asleep, Machi stumbled out of Diego's bunk and climbed into his own.

Diego lay on his back again and slid his visor off, placing it on his chest. He managed not to snicker when he heard Machi taking care of his erection. _Ah, the days of my youth…like fresh lemons._ He wondered fleetingly what had become of Marvin Grossberg. Probably still arguing cases while three sheets to the wind and traumatising interns with tales of his buttocks. He was like Gant and Yogi – another old fuck who would never die.

Diego tucked one hand under his pillow and scratched idly at the scar left by his feeding tube. He wished he was still allowed to have cigarettes. It would be nice to lie here and watch the dawn creep through the window through a haze of smoke, with the rush of nicotine in his bloodstream and the smooth taste of tobacco on his tongue. Outside, the birds were already singing. In another hour or so, the stillness would be broken by the quiet growl of car engines as the morning shift arrived. Then they'd have another forty-five minutes before the block filled with screws, rattling nightsticks along the bars and yelling at them to get their lazy asses out of bed. Diego stretched and wriggled his toes, then felt around for the blanket and pulled it up to his waist. He decided to savour the peace and quiet while it lasted.

It was on mornings like this, before prison, before the stroke, that he could almost feel Mia's presence. Never at night – that belonged to the various horrors conjured up by his tormented mind – only now, when the grey dawn light slowly inched its way over the horizon. Maybe it was because every new day meant hope.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a toilet flushing at the end of the block. That was Gant – he'd had prostate trouble for the past three years, which had put a stop to his…other activities. Yogi would be up next, in about fifteen minutes. Diego smirked. As wrecked as his body was, at least that system still worked fine.

His smirk faded and he blinked a few times as he suddenly realised he actually felt _contented_. In fact, when he thought about it, he realised that over the last month or so, he'd started to feel – not happy, exactly, but _normal_ for longer and longer each day. Hell, over the past couple of days he'd even thought about messing with Gavin again. After the stroke, he'd gone somewhere very dark, and if it hadn't been for Machi, the darkness would've consumed him.

Diego stared sightlessly up at the underside of the top bunk. His mother always said things happened for a reason. She'd really believed it, too, right up until the day his father dropped dead of a brain haemorrhage. Diego had never shared her view. There was no Grand Design; men forged their own destinies. But maybe there was some truth to it after all.

He hadn't been there to protect Mia. He'd made a horrible, nightmarish mess of protecting Maya. But now, because of his sentence, because of his stroke, because he'd been by the fence that day and had intervened, he had somebody else to protect. And he was damn well going to make sure that Machi got through his three years in one piece, and went home to his mom the same innocent, blue-eyed boy she remembered.


	10. Piano Man

"Diego!"

It was Sunday again. Diego looked up from his coffee as Machi came into the rec room, practically bouncing with pent-up energy. The boy did his best to restrain himself as he walked over, but it was obvious that he was brimming with excitement.

"Come with me," he insisted, unable to keep the smile from his face. "I have something to show you."

Diego held up one finger, and had a last sip of his coffee before getting to his feet. Machi just barely resisted taking his hand as he led him out of the rec room. He forced himself to match Diego's slower pace as a guard escorted them down the corridor.

"I behave myself so well, I get reward," Machi explained. He was practically skipping. "And they let me share with you."

Diego stared at him in puzzlement. _What's the reward, kid, the Zheng Fa women's volleyball team? _Machi stopped outside a door, and the guard obligingly unlocked it for them. Machi gazed at Diego with an expression of unbridled happiness.

"I get to play music."

Diego followed Machi into the room. Various instruments lined the sides of the room, and in the centre stood an old upright piano. He smirked as Machi made a beeline for the piano, carefully opened the lid, and reverently stroked his fingers along the keys. Diego left him to it and wandered around the room, gazing at the different instruments.

"You play music?" Machi asked, walking up to him. He flinched a little, squeezing his arm nervously, and amended, "Before…?"

Diego glanced at him and went back to looking at the instruments. A flash of gold near the back of the room caught his eye and he walked towards it, Machi following. A saxophone was propped up in a rickety-looking stand. Diego felt a twinge of sadness at the sight of the neglected instrument. He looked around for its case but couldn't see it.

Machi had caught up to him. "You play saxophone?"

Diego shrugged slightly, held his palm out flat and lowered it.

"When younger?" Machi guessed.

Diego nodded. He'd started learning to play it in middle school, but his practice sessions dropped off dramatically in college – replaced by a different kind of beautiful music. By the time he met Mia, he hadn't touched his sax in years. He'd always meant to take it up again, but he just hadn't got round to it. Now he never would. Diego lifted a finger and gently trailed it across the saxophone's dull golden surface. Hell, he didn't know if he could even lift it now.

"So that why you like jazz."

Diego looked at Machi sharply. The boy offered him a sheepish grin.

"In rec room, when radio on, you like jazz station," he explained. "But someone always change it."

Diego shrugged and nodded. It wasn't a fight he would've won, even before the stroke. Too many inmates preferred the local radio station, and he understood why. Being in prison was like living in a time capsule, cut off and standing still while the rest of society moved forward. Hearing the latest hits on the radio – even if they were all carefully packaged, bubblegum pop – was a connection to the outside world and its changing trends.

Machi plucked at his sleeve.

"Come, I show you."

Diego turned and followed Machi over to the piano. Machi scooted over and invited Diego to sit next to him. Diego carefully lowered himself onto the stool and watched as Machi stretched out his fingers and gently placed them on the keys.

He started to play, and Diego quickly realised he was in the presence of a virtuoso. The boy must've started at a very young age, or maybe he was just crazily talented. Probably both. Diego alternated between closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him, and watching Machi's hands dance over the keys. He had no idea how long he sat there, listening to Machi play, but all too soon the guard interrupted and told them they'd had long enough. Machi carefully closed the piano lid, then got up and helped Diego to his feet. He was practically glowing. Diego smiled at him and clapped a hand on Machi's shoulder.

"You like?" Machi asked with a shy smile. Diego nodded and squeezed his shoulder before letting go. They turned and began to head for the door.

Crescend passed them on his way in. Immediately the look of happiness on Machi's face was replaced by one of thunderous anger.

"Thought the music room was for _musicians._"

Machi turned his head and glared at Crescend over his shoulder. Diego put a hand on his back and managed to keep him moving. Crescend glared back as he opened a guitar case.

"What's he gonna do," he asked contemptuously, nodding at Diego, "play the spoons on his brace?"

Machi nearly turned around, and Diego quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. Machi looked at him with a surprised, offended expression. Diego frowned and shook his head. _It's not worth it, kid. You want them to let you back in here, don't you?_

Machi yanked his arm out of Diego's grasp, but continued out of the music room without sparing Crescend another glance. Diego gave a quiet sigh of relief and followed Machi back to the rec room.

Later, over dinner, Diego's gaze was drawn to Machi's hands. He didn't know how he'd missed the boy's long, slender fingers before. _What the hell are you doing here, kid? You should be playing sell-out shows in the Sunshine Coliseum, not private performances for a drooling write-off like me._

He glanced over at the next table, where Crescend was trying desperately to look like he belonged, and felt a little shudder of foreboding.

_xxx_

The weeks went by. Machi stayed out of trouble and was rewarded with more time in the music room. Diego couldn't always spend it with him, but he didn't mind – the look of joy on Machi's face was what mattered. Anything that kept him focussed on his future was a good thing. As much as he tried, Diego couldn't shake the worry that something might happen between Machi and Crescend. But it was only a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, like a lone cloud on a sunny day. Gavin was leaving him alone, the nightmares weren't as frequent, and when they were particularly bad, Machi usually woke him up. Food tasted better, and he looked forward to his cups of coffee. The world was warm and alive again.

"So, Mr. Armando, how have you been this week?"

The psychiatrist's desk, as usual, was stocked with sheets of paper and crayons. Diego had resisted using them at first – the thought of expressing himself through clumsy drawings that a five year old would be ashamed of was unappealing, to say the least. But slowly he'd overcome his self-consciousness, and now he pulled some paper towards him, picked up a crayon in his good hand, and scrawled three horizontal lines and a smirking mouth.

The doctor smiled faintly at the drawing and put it to one side.

"We've got quite a stack of those now," he remarked. "I think it's time we started to wean you off the anti-depressants."

Diego smirked and gave him a thumbs-up.


	11. Unscheduled Vacation

Diego sat patiently on the bed while the doctor examined his sightless eyes. As usual, he couldn't even tell that she was shining a light into them. He was lucky his optic nerves still worked – for now. If they gave out, the only artificial aid that would do him any good was a white stick. He heard the sound of a pen scratching against paper, and then the doctor handed him his visor.

"No changes since last time," the doctor remarked as the world swam back into view. "You scored the same on the muscular strength tests and manual dexterity tests." She looked up from her chart and fixed him with a determined look. "Have you been talking at all?"

Diego heaved an impatient sigh.

"It's important," the doctor scolded him. "You made all that progress in speech therapy –" Diego snorted, but she ignored him. "Use it or lose it."

Diego gazed up at her, his hands clasped between his legs. _You don't get it, doc. If I use it, I'm their clown again. If I lose it, who cares? My next address will be a basement one-bed apartment, with scenic monuments adjacent. And trust me, the neighbours won't be dropping by for a chat._

The doctor gazed back at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come on, Diego," she urged. "One sentence. Tell me…tell me what you did after dinner yesterday evening."

Diego took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They'd been through this at his last physical. She wouldn't let him leave until he at least tried. _I listened to Machi play the piano._ Easy. Seven words. He took another deep breath. He wet his lips. _I. I._

"M-Machi…"

…_okay, not how I wanted to start, but we'll keep going –_

"Machi…and…Diego…"

He winced at the slurred, mangled mess he made of his own name. The doctor gazed at him expectantly, and he tried to focus on the next word.

…_listened…_

"…music… and, oh…piano…and…"

_Fuck. Fuck!_

Diego brought his hand up to rub his forehead, remembered his visor was in the way, and let it drop back to his side.

"…uh…yeah."

He looked up at the doctor as she made a note on his chart. He could tell from her face that she had a good idea which wires were crossed in his head, and if they were out in the real world where men could come and go as they pleased, she would recommend specialists and treatments that would help to untangle them. But there was no money in the prison budget for those things. Lifers needed food and board for thirty years or more, and as they got older and developed health problems they just got more expensive to keep. Diego already cost extra because of the warehouse of pills he needed every year just to stay functional. There was no chance of more therapy for him.

He felt sorry for the doc, suddenly – he'd come to terms with never speaking again. But she'd got into this job to help people, and instead she was here, doing maintenance on rapists and murderers with the bare minimum of resources required to ensure humane treatment. Slowly but surely, this place was burning her out.

"All right," the doctor said at last, and mustered a smile for him. Diego smiled back. She was a good-looking woman. He hoped she had a good man at home who would treat her right after a long, rough day in here. "I'll see you in another few months."

It was one of those rare days when it was raining too hard for the screws to send them out to the exercise yard, so Diego was taken to the rec room. It didn't bother him when he didn't see Machi among the other prisoners. There could be a matinee in the mess hall, or more likely he was in the music room again. Since Gavin was nowhere to be seen, Diego was content to relax, keeping half an eye on the TV as a couple of the younger cons squabbled over what to watch.

The first sign Diego got that anything was wrong was when he'd collected his meal in the mess hall. At every table he passed, the other prisoners quietened down or shut up altogether, and he could feel their eyes on him as he walked by. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and something unpleasant settled in the pit of his stomach as he realised there was still no sign of Machi.

His eyes narrowed as he reached his table and saw Gavin sitting in Machi's chair, a smug, satisfied little smile on his face. Diego sat opposite him, and glared.

"If you're looking for your little bunkmate," Gavin remarked sweetly, "I'm afraid you're out of luck. Mr. Tobaye won't be around for…quite a while."

Diego felt himself going hot with rage. _No. No, not again!_ He gripped the sides of his tray tightly. His gaze fell on Gavin's meal, sitting in front of him.

"Oh, he'll be back," Gavin assured him, "but until he is, I intend to have my fun –"

Diego shoved his tray into Gavin's tray as hard as he could. Gavin jerked back as his dinner was thrown onto his lap.

There was silence for a moment. Gavin held his arms away from him, gazing in disgust at the food staining his clothes. From the corner of his eye, Diego could see the prisoners at the next table staring at them.

Gavin composed himself, and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Well," he remarked, "I'll have to have yours then, won't I?"

He reached for Diego's tray.

Diego picked it up, twisted in his seat, and casually tipped his own meal onto the floor.

_There. None for you and none for me. You've forgotten, amigo – I was always a crazier bastard than you._

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward until he could see his visor lights reflected in Gavin's glasses. Gavin's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. It was the only outward sign of nervousness he gave, but it was enough. A moment later he stood up, gravy and mashed potato dripping from his stripes.

"This isn't over." He made a move as if to lean down, but thought better of it. "I promise you."

_You're goddamn right it's not._ Diego glared at him as he walked away.

He spent the rest of the evening in the rec room, eyes trained on Gavin. If he didn't have anything to do with Machi's disappearance, he certainly knew who had. And whoever it was had deliberately waited until Diego was at his check-up to do it. Well, if Gavin thought he was going to be cowed and submissive because Machi was out of the picture, he was wrong. Diego couldn't bash his head in, but he could make damn sure that Gavin got no joy out of messing with him.

Back in his cell, Diego's anger began to dissipate, replaced by cold anxiety. Was Machi in solitary, or was he in the infirmary? If the latter, how badly hurt was he? None of the other prisoners were going to tell him, which left him only one option. He rattled at the bars of his cage until one of the screws approached.

"Hey! Settle down." The screw rattled his nightstick against the bars, then paused to give Diego a dirty look. Diego shook his head and pointed to the empty top bunk.

The screw blew out a breath and tilted his head to one side. "What, Armando?"

Diego smacked his good hand against Machi's vacant mattress, then shrugged, holding his hands with his palms facing upwards.

"Oh, you miss your buddy?" the screw asked. "You'll have him back by the end of the week. Till then, you'll just have to use your hand like the rest of us."

Diego snorted in the back of his throat, and then spat at him. The screw stepped back hurriedly, and the gob of phlegm hit the floor just shy of his shoe. The screw looked up at him and tapped his nightstick against the bars.

"You're lucky that missed," he warned. He backed up, glaring at Diego, before walking away.

Diego sat on his bunk after lights out, squeezing and relaxing his fingers in his pillow. Someone was going to pay for this. First Gavin, and then whoever else was responsible for sending Machi away. All he needed was a name.

_xxx_

Diego kept an eye out for Gavin the next morning as they were herded out of their cells and down to the mess hall. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do – not that that had ever stopped him before – but he did know Gavin. The man was careful, always weighed up the pros and cons and direct risks to him before he took any action. He also didn't like to get his perfectly manicured hands dirty. For all his pathological cunning, at the heart of it Gavin was a squeamish coward. Even though he was younger, healthier and had a couple of inches on him, Diego was pretty confident Gavin wouldn't resort to violence just because Diego made a nuisance of himself. And he wouldn't call in one of the few favours he had left, after four years of the top brass getting wise to his manipulative tricks, to arrange a punishment beating just because the cripple threw food on him.

Diego spotted Gavin sitting with some other prisoners as he moved along the line. He collected his breakfast, then walked up behind him, leaned over Gavin's shoulder, and casually spit in his cereal. He didn't stay to hear Gavin's spluttered threats, just continued to his usual spot with the other inmates' howls of laughter following him. He heard the scrape of a chair as he picked up his spoon and began to chew his first mouthful of food. A moment later, a second bowl of cereal smacked down on the table next to him.

Diego looked up, mouth still full of soggy cornflakes and milk, to see Gavin standing over him.

"You're going to take _this_," Gavin said tightly, nudging the second bowl with an expression of disgust, "and give me _that_." He pointed to Diego's bowl. "_Now._"

Diego looked at him, then nodded. Before Gavin could stop him, he spat a mouthful of half-dissolved, milky cereal and as much slobber as he could muster into his own bowl.

Gavin's colour heightened, his lips compressing into a prissy little line. Diego leaned back in his chair and idly ran a fingertip along the side of his visor as he gazed up at him. _You're going to eat my drool for breakfast, amigo, or else you're going hungry. Your choice._

Abruptly Gavin composed himself, resting his elbow in one hand while he adjusted his glasses with the other. "I suppose you think you're very clever." He picked up his bowl, unable to keep from wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust. "I'm a patient man, Armando. Don't forget it."

Diego smirked as Gavin walked away. Patient or not, if Gavin wasn't the one responsible for Machi's unscheduled vacation, he'd quickly tire of taking shit on behalf of the person who had. It was unlikely he would suffer any consequences if he gave Diego the culprit's name – after all, Diego was no longer in a position to deliver a beating himself, and he had no allies who could dish out a punishment for him. Why not simply point him towards the person who really deserved his ire, and let _him_ deal with his petty shenanigans?

Diego returned to his cereal and began to plot his next move. He had four days to annoy the living hell out of Gavin before Machi got back and told him what had happened, and he planned to make every opportunity count.


	12. Wounded

It was fun to have Gavin on the run for a change, but as the days went by, he began to get wise to Diego's tricks. He started guarding his food at mealtimes to avoid any more "special garnishes". He did his best to avoid him in the line so that Diego couldn't knock his tray out of his hands. And after two cups of lukewarm coffee wound up in his hair, he started avoiding the rec room too.

After three and a half days, Diego was almost out of ways to mess with Gavin. He didn't mind too much – he was convinced that Gavin really was the only person involved with Machi's disappearance. But it would be a crying shame to have to let up on him, with only one afternoon left till Machi came back.

Diego was strolling around the exercise yard, pondering what to do, when suddenly a golden opportunity presented itself. He usually left Gavin alone in the exercise yard – too many guards, and too many nosy inmates who might jump in if an argument started. But it was so perfect; Gavin was standing _right there_ with his back to him, and before he could think about it, Diego reached around and plucked Gavin's glasses right off his face.

Gavin whirled immediately and made a grab for him, but without his glasses he was almost as blind as Diego, and Diego was able to sidestep him easily. Diego pulled back his arm, chambering it for a throw, and Gavin held up his hands in a gesture of submission.

"Armando, don't!" Gavin almost choked on the next word. "P-please."

Diego paused, but kept his arm in position. Gavin's squinting gaze flicked between Diego's face and the glasses clutched in his good hand.

"Don't you want to know what happened to Tobaye?" Gavin asked. He wore the cagey look of a man who had just realised that the box of junk he kept in the attic contained a treasure after all. Diego frowned at him, and nodded. Gavin glanced at the glasses again, and wet his lips nervously. "Give them back, and I'll tell you."

Diego jerked his arm and Gavin surged forward desperately, stopping short when Diego leaned back for the throw.

"All right!" Gavin said, holding up his hands. This time he didn't take his eyes off the glasses. "Crescend slammed Tobaye's hand in the piano lid. We were all in the music room. I saw it myself."

Diego grit his teeth, heat rising into his face. Gavin was still talking, but his words faded out. All Diego could think about were Machi's long, slender fingers, smashed and mangled beyond repair. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he was going to do _something_.

"So…"

Diego abruptly realised that Gavin had finished the story, and was now looking at the glasses, which were coming perilously close to being crushed in Diego's fist. Slowly, Diego relaxed his hold. _A deal's a deal, amigo._ He lowered his arm and Gavin came forward, taking little, tentative steps, eyes fixed on the prize.

Diego shoved him away with his bad arm and flung the glasses across the exercise yard with as much power as he could muster.

Gavin stared in shock for a few seconds, then turned on him.

"You deceitful BASTARD!" he screamed, as outraged as if they were still respectable men and Diego had just cheated at a game of cards. He'd known all along what Diego would do, and the bulk of his anger came from the fact that for a few minutes he'd actually believed that he _wouldn't_ do it. Diego tensed, ready to jump or sprawl in case Gavin charged. It was a strong possibility; Gavin felt just as vulnerable without his glasses as Diego did without his visor, and right now he was _trembling_ with fury, hands balled into fists by his side.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then Gavin whirled around and stalked away, hoping to salvage his glasses before another inmate finished them off.

Diego smirked as he watched him go. _I'm a man of my word, Gavin, but unfortunately they've been taken away from me. I've extended you quite a line of credit these past few months. It's about time you paid what you owe._ Once he was sure Gavin wasn't going to change his mind and come running back, Diego turned and began to walk in the opposite direction.

So, it was Crescend all along who had hurt Machi. Who'd deliberately hurt him in such a way as to rob him of the only thing in this hellhole that gave him any real joy. Diego cracked the knuckles of his good hand.

That shark was going to pay.

_xxx_

Diego kept a look out for Crescend for the rest of the day, but to his consternation he didn't see the ex-detective at all. It was insanely frustrating, but as he was taken back to the cells he did his best to calm down. Machi would be upset enough – he didn't need Diego's anger piled on top.

He sat on his bunk for what seemed like an eternity, doing his best not to fidget. At last he heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Diego forced himself to stay on his bunk as the screws arrived and unlocked the bars. Machi stepped inside, his shoulders hunched, a sad, angry scowl on his face. Diego's gaze was drawn to the bulky white bandages on the ring and little finger of his left hand.

One of the screws paused after they ran the bars closed on their tracks and locked them up again. He rapped his nightstick on the bars, the metal ringing flatly.

"Stay outta trouble."

Diego waited until the guards' footfalls died away before he stood up. He took a step forward, intending to put his arm around the boy and comfort him as best he could. Before he could get there, Machi held up his injured hand.

"Look what that bastard do to me," he snarled.

The look of pure rage on Machi's face made Diego pause. He stayed where he was as Machi began to pace, circling around in the tiny gap between the bunks, the toilet and the wall.

"I minding own business," he continued, his voice a low, angry growl. "I playing piano, he there with guitar, Gavin with violin. Then he walk by and –" Machi paused and looked at his bandaged fingers. "I pull hands away but not quick enough and he slam – he put weight on it and I hear snap –" He broke off, choking back tears. Diego almost went to him, but then Machi continued, face contorting with fury. "He laugh when I scream. He call me little girl and he laugh –" He balled his uninjured hand into a fist and his whole body trembled. "It his fault I here! He kill a man and blame me, so I forced to tell what I do – now I can't go HOME –" He whirled around, and the sound of ripping paper filled the air as he tore the calendar from the wall. "And he smash my fingers and laugh at me!"

He stood in the middle of the cell, shaking, the first silent tears finally starting down his face. Diego approached him slowly, and tentatively raised his hand to offer a comforting touch, since there was nothing he could say – even if he _could_ talk.

Machi batted his hand away and made for the bunks. He struggled a little but managed to swing himself up, then rolled over to face the wall.

Diego gazed at him for a few minutes, debating whether or not to try again. Finally he decided to leave the boy alone for a little while. A wounded lion might lash out at friend as easily as foe. Diego turned his head and saw the calendar on the floor. The top two inches of the current month's picture were still attached to the wall. Diego carefully knelt down and picked the calendar up. _Scenes from Borginia_. He remembered what Machi had said, when he'd tried to ask how long his sentence was. _It my home_. That was what the boy had meant just now.

Diego sat on the floor and gazed at the calendar. He doubted he would ever get the whole story from Machi, and he certainly wouldn't get it from Crescend, but he could make a guess. Crescend had shot an Interpol agent, so he must've been up to something before that – smuggling, corporate secrets…hell, maybe even human trafficking. And his accomplice – or one of them – was a fourteen year old Borginian boy. Who'd had to confess his own guilt to avoid being framed for murder, and as part of the deal now had to live in exile, even after his sentence was complete. Who had a mother and family waiting for him, but could never go _home_, really home, again.

Diego glanced up at the top bunk, and wondered suddenly if Iris was just as angry with him. She'd gotten a light sentence, Maya had told him that much before she stopped visiting, but maybe she had to live in exile too, driven from home by bad memories instead of a plea bargain. It made him sick to his stomach now to think of how coldly he'd approached her in the beginning, how he'd told her exactly who he was and what Hawthorne had done to him. He'd put his pill box on the table and showed her what it took just to keep him alive. He hammered home how she'd covered for her demonic sister, and even the tears that came to her eyes weren't enough to make him stop. He hadn't cared what happened to him back then, and Misty Fey was a grown woman, self-possessed and sure just like Mia, and the Master to boot. Iris was intimidated by them, weighed down by her own guilt and her need to make amends. Diego hoped that wherever she was now, she was happy, and free of her demons.

_Enough wallowing, Armando. This isn't about you – that's always been your trouble._ Diego roused himself. The intensity of Machi's anger made him nervous. The boy had less than three years before he was free. This thing between him and Crescend could not be allowed to escalate, or else one of them was going to do something stupid. Diego had to do his best to remind Machi of all he had waiting for him, if he could just hold his anger in check. Meanwhile, he'd take care of Crescend.

Diego slowly got to his feet and walked to where the uneven strip of paper from the top of the calendar still clung to the wall. He pulled it away from the concrete and carefully unpicked the sticky tack from the back of it. Then he tacked the calendar back up on the wall. It was a little uglier than before, but the month was almost over and the next page was intact. He turned and looked at Machi, still facing the wall. _You'll see, kid. It'll all be better by Thanksgiving. You'll be tinkling those ivories again before you know it._

He walked over to the toilet and took a leak. The mattress creaked, and as he finished up he noticed that Machi had rolled over to face him. Diego adjusted his pants and looked back at him.

"Did Gavin hurt you?"

Diego frowned, but before he could think about what had prompted the question, Machi explained, "He say before – if I go away, he make you suffer."

Diego smirked and shook his head. He wished he could tell Machi all about Gavin's extended stay at Shenanigan's – if nothing else, it might cheer him up. Machi looked a little confused, so Diego gave him a thumbs-up. This seemed to satisfy him, and a relieved, weary smile appeared briefly on his face.

"Good," he murmured, then turned back to the wall.

Diego crossed to the bunks and rolled into bed. He would have to get a hold of Crescend soon, and do his best to make him understand that Machi was to be left alone. He wasn't sure how he would manage that, given that he wasn't exactly a threat any more, but it would have to be done. And Crescend wasn't like Gavin, cold and calculating – as an ex-detective, he was a dead man unless he brutally put down anyone who messed with him. He _might_ baulk at beating up a cripple, out of whatever shreds of decency he had left, but Diego couldn't count on it.

There was also the matter of Machi's fingers. Crescend would have to answer for them, otherwise it would be a sore spot with Machi, itchy and irritating until one day he decided to scratch the hell out of it – and maybe wind up in here for a lot longer than he planned. That meant Diego would have to do something about it instead. Or – he grimaced at the thought – go on his knees to somebody who could.

Diego fell asleep still trying to come up with a plan.


	13. Warning

By breakfast time the next morning, Diego had reviewed all the evidence, and had begun to form a strategy.

Crescend had waited until Diego was safely out of the way before he made a move on Machi. That meant he rated him as some kind of threat, at least. Crescend had been present the day he charged Tigre and kneed his balls back up into his belly, so he knew that Diego could still do damage, given the right circumstances. More than that – the incident with Tigre had shown Crescend that stroke or not, Diego was still a crazy reckless bastard, second only to Yanni Yogi in how little a fuck he gave for his own safety. Maybe more so, since now he had even less to lose than when he was healthy.

Yes, Diego mused as he chewed a slice of rubbery toast, ignoring the moist crumbs gathering in his beard, he could work with that. The reputation he'd earned over the last eleven years would carry him quite a bit of the way. True, he no longer had the strength to back it up, but he still had one hand that could crush, and that might be enough. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. After all, he'd been an attorney once – bluffing was what he did best.

Diego slid his gaze over to where Crescend was sitting. The tricky part would be choosing when to approach him. If he threatened or humiliated Crescend in front of witnesses, then Crescend would have no choice but to kick the crap out of him. And then Machi would go after Crescend. But if they were alone, Crescend might hold off, and if he didn't, there would be nobody to go running to Machi to tell him all about how Sharky Five-Oh beat the daylights out of his daddy. The problem was, Diego couldn't think of a single time or place when he might be alone with Crescend.

Diego looked up at his dining companion. Machi was staring at Crescend. He only wore a faint scowl on his face, but there was a darkness in his eyes, like the sky before a storm. Diego finished his toast. He would find a solution.

_xxx_

Diego almost missed him as he stood in front of the dryers, folding clothes as usual. He didn't know what made him look up, but when he did it was just in time to see Crescend pushing one of the big trolleys around the corner to where the clean clothes were sorted. Diego didn't know why Crescend had been switched to the laundry room for work detail, and he didn't care. He smirked. That old whore Lady Luck had a heart of gold after all. He went on with his task, waiting for Crescend to come back. When he reappeared with the trolley, Diego paid careful attention. Crescend stopped a few feet away from him to load up the trolley with folded clothes. He didn't even glance in Diego's direction.

Diego pondered the fact that Crescend hadn't paid him any attention, even a fleeting, wary look to make sure he wasn't going to try anything. Maybe Crescend didn't think he was a threat after all. Of course, in that case the turnabout would have an even greater impact when it came. Maybe Crescend was bluffing – hoping Diego would think twice about approaching him if he showed that he didn't rate Diego as a danger.

There was also a chance that Crescend simply believed that Diego wouldn't take any action, no matter what he did to Machi. That eating together, walking the yard together and spending time in the music room together was one thing, but the cripple actually going to bat for the kid was another. They shared no gang or mob affiliation, they certainly weren't from the same family or neighbourhood. Their allegiance was an attempt at safety in numbers, born out of their common status as easy targets. What else could it be? There were, after all, no friends in prison.

Diego concentrated on folding clothes, mentally noting the number of times Crescend made his rounds. No matter what, his only choice was to go on the offensive. The only question was to what degree, and to answer it, there was something he first had to find out.

Machi was silent all through lunch, but he wasn't giving Crescend any more dirty looks. He stayed at Diego's side as they were turned out into the exercise yard. Diego butted him gently with his shoulder as they began their first circuit, and got a weary smile in return. The darkness had receded from Machi's blue eyes, and Diego felt some of the tension in his chest start to ease.

They took a breather after three and a half laps. Diego picked a spot in the sun near the fence, and Machi sat beside him. Diego glanced at him briefly. He'd been thinking about how to ask his question all morning, and he hoped that Machi would understand. He nudged the boy with his elbow. When Machi looked up at him, Diego pointed to his bandaged fingers. Then he held his arms in front of him, bent at the elbow. He curled his fingers slightly and then wiggled them while moving his hands from side to side.

For a moment Machi simply frowned in puzzlement, and Diego tried to think of another mime that might work better. Then Machi's expression changed to one of understanding.

"The doctors say I play piano again," he replied. The shy smile he got when he played for Diego appeared on his face. "Only long bones broken. Knuckles okay, nerves okay."

Diego took a deep breath and let it out slow. He returned Machi's smile and squeezed his shoulder. It was a relief to know that the boy wasn't permanently crippled, or even just crippled enough to stop him playing the instrument he loved. In a couple of months he'd be whole again, and have all the hope and joy he had before. And it would be easier for him to resist the urge for retribution, especially if Diego managed to warn Crescend off in the meantime.

Not to mention it made Diego's job a lot easier, now that he didn't have to mangle Crescend's hand to make things even.

_xxx_

Diego waited a week before he made a move. It gave him time to figure out the routine of the laundry room. He'd worked down there before the stroke, loading and unloading the washing machines, and he'd been at his current station for a few months, but he'd never bothered to pay attention to who else was there and when they came and went.

He'd known that Gant folded clothes with him. Even now, at nearly eighty years old, he had a presence that was impossible to miss. His prostate trouble meant he was allowed three or four bathroom breaks, and his age meant he took his sweet time getting there and back. Gant claimed he had arthritis, but Diego wouldn't have been surprised if the old man was bullshitting as an excuse to dawdle. Gant hated work detail, you could see in his face that he thought it was beneath him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Ha…! Thirteen years into a life sentence for murder, and he _still_ behaved like the whole thing was an outrage.

The particular bank of dryers where Diego folded clothes was separated from the rest of the laundry room – and any witnesses – by the back of the store room where the detergents were kept. The wall and dryers formed a narrow corridor, open at each end. Sometimes a guard was stationed nearby – usually after someone got jumped in the out-of-the-way space. But everything had been quiet lately, and Diego and Gant were left to their own devices. On a typical day Crescend made at least one trip with his trolley during each of Gant's breaks. He came in at one end, carefully manoeuvring the big trolley around the corner, passed behind Diego, collected the folded clothes left neatly on top of the last dryer, and then turned the corner at the far end, bearing his freshly-laundered cargo back to the rest of the laundry room for sorting. Exactly the same every single time.

There was only one thing that bucked the routine. Portsman had the job of loading and unloading Diego's bank of dryers, and he did it without any rhyme or reason. He'd come down with too many wet clothes and start overloading the machines. Or he'd come down with too few, and divide them up equally among the dryers. Then he'd arrive with another load and fidget and whine because all the dryers were going. Diego couldn't really blame him for being addled. Portsman had deteriorated badly since he was imprisoned. He'd turned to the small group of incarcerated law enforcement members for support at first. Badd and Marshall wanted nothing to do with him because he'd murdered a detective. Diego distanced himself because he hadn't needed allies, and if he had, Portsman would have been a poor choice. Yogi didn't give a fuck, even though Portsman was his cellmate. Then he'd tried to get in with the criminals by bragging about icing a cop, and when they'd laughed and beaten the shit out of him, he'd finally gone crawling to Gant. The ex-police chief was insulted at being left till last, and disinclined to take such an obvious target under his wing…at least until Portsman went on his knees. But Gant's influence had been on the wane for some years now, and Portsman skittered around the prison like a kitten in a warehouse full of rocking chairs, paranoid about where the next hit was coming from.

His unpredictability created a problem, but after much consideration Diego decided it was a minor one. If Portsman walked in on his man-to-man with Crescend, he was too cowed and jumpy to say anything smart. And he had no allies to tell who might give Crescend a hard time about the cripple making him his bitch, except for Gant…who wouldn't see the point in causing trouble over something that didn't affect him. With that final complication accounted for, Diego set his plan in motion.

There were five stages to laundry detail – sort, wash, dry, fold, and sort again. At the start of the morning, everybody sorted. Bedclothes, stripes and underwear all went into separate piles, and when the piles were big enough half the group began to load the washing machines. Diego continued to sort the laundry while the first of the machines finished their cycles. He watched as Portsman went down past the store room and disappeared around the corner to load the dryers. Diego kept his eye on Portsman when he came back, and followed him when he went down with his next load.

He kept his distance while Portsman unloaded the dryers. The former prosecutor was twitchier than usual, and Diego wondered if somebody had menaced him over breakfast. Gant shuffled down just as Portsman finished loading up the last dryer with more wet clothes.

Diego set about folding the dry clothes. Two dryers away, Gant began to do likewise, but after fifteen minutes he was shifting his weight from foot to foot. Diego didn't look up, but he knew what that meant, and sure enough, within a few minutes Gant shuffled away. Diego heard him call out to the guards that he needed to take a leak. The stage was set – Diego was alone, the dryers were at the beginning of their cycle. All he had to do was wait for Crescend.

The minutes ticked by. Diego began to worry that Crescend wouldn't be down before Gant returned – or worse yet, that he'd been assigned to some other task and he'd missed his opportunity. But then finally he heard the rumble of a trolley, and seconds later Crescend arrived around the corner.

The trolley he was pushing had a wobbly wheel, and Crescend struggled to turn it, cursing under his breath. As he moved down to the last dryer, Diego crept up behind him. Crescend took his hands off the trolley to pick up the folded clothes, and Diego grabbed his little finger with his good hand and bent it back as far as he could.

Crescend let out a yell, then quickly smothered it with his free hand so as not to draw the guards' attention. Diego made sure his body was as close to Crescend's as possible, and when Crescend turned his head he actually jerked back a little, frightened by Diego's proximity to him. "What the fuck?"

Diego released the pressure on Crescend's finger for a split second and then reapplied it. Crescend gasped, shoving his fist back into his mouth to keep from making any more noise. Diego already knew he wouldn't be able to break Crescend's finger, but he could flex it, sending little pulses of pain down the bone and into his hand. Crescend glared at him, but didn't try to pull away. Understanding was dawning on his face.

"What, Tobaye can't jerk you off the way you like it now?" he growled. "Boo fuckin' hoo." Diego flexed his finger again. This time Crescend grimaced, a strangled little sound escaping through his clenched teeth. He swallowed, regaining his composure, and glared at Diego. "Look, I don't wanna have to hurt you, old-timer, so how about you let me go? That little snot-nose doesn't need you to fight his battles."

Diego applied a touch more pressure on Crescend's finger.

"Shit, gimme a chance!" Crescend hissed. "I got proof."

He lifted up his shirt with his free hand. A mosaic of bruises, slowly fading to green and yellow and brown, lay along one side of his ribs and spread down to his stomach.

"See that?" Crescend growled, a note of contempt entering his voice. "Yeah I smashed his fingers up. And he kicked the shit out of me. You really thought he was in the hospital all that time? Little fuck was in solitary."

If there was one thing Diego had learned, at an appalling cost, it was that when justice was served, you had to let it go. The licks Machi had dished out would cover his broken fingers, assuming the docs were right and they healed properly. He stopped flexing Crescend's finger, but kept a tight hold of it.

"You wanna let me go now?" Crescend snapped. "I got work to do."

Diego jerked his head forward, aiming to headbutt Crescend with his visor, but pulled it at the last second. Crescend flinched away, and Diego raised his bad hand, splaying his index and middle finger apart. He pointed them first at his visor, then at Crescend's eyes.

_I'm watching you._

He whipped his good arm and released Crescend's finger, as if he was throwing it down. Crescend took a step back and turned to the last dryer, keeping his eyes on Diego as he picked up the folded clothes.

"I'm sick of him and I'm sick of you," he spat. "Walking around like you're such hot shit. You're a fucking cripple and he's a snotty little brat. Don't forget it." He finished loading up his trolley and pushed it around the far corner.

The rest of work detail passed without incident. Crescend threw Diego a brief glance the next time he went by, but after that he ignored him. Diego was satisfied. Machi had fought back already – he would be less likely to want revenge, once his fingers were healed. And while Crescend had probably intended his final little rant to be threatening, it had come out like the whine of a petulant child. He'd gotten Diego's meaning, even without words.

It wasn't until lunch, when he was trying to negotiate his fish sticks without smearing tartar sauce in his beard, that Diego realised Crescend was _jealous_. Jealous because even the cripple and the brat at least had each other for company. Jealous because he used to be able to find common ground with the other prisoners by kicking Diego around, and now nobody did that any more. Diego glanced over at Crescend, sitting at the end of a table full of criminals, staring at his meal while he ate. It had never occurred to him to wonder who might have taken his place at the bottom of the totem pole.

_xxx_

The weeks stretched into months, the days getting longer and the weather getting warmer. Machi's fingers healed just fine, and the look of pure joy on his face when he played again for the first time filled Diego with relief and happiness. But every now and then he would see a shadow in those sky-blue eyes, and he knew he would have to stay on his guard.

_xxx_

"What day is today?"

Diego stirred. Someone was shaking him awake. He groped for his visor and put it on.

"It's Diego's birthday!"

Machi smiled at him, bathed in the morning sunlight. Diego screwed his eyes shut and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the calendar. It couldn't be. Already?

But yes, there it was, the day marked with sticky tack. Diego took a deep breath and blew it out. Machi came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Is big birthday?" he asked. "How old are you?"

Diego shook his head and waved him off. Age was meaningless when you were missing five years and your body felt like it belonged to an old man. He went back to sit on his bunk.

"Then I guess." The boy was so enthusiastic, anyone would think it was _his_ birthday instead. "…Sixty?"

Diego looked up at him, offended. A sly smile spread across Machi's face.

"…Ninety?"

Diego smirked and flipped him off. Machi practically bounded over and sat on the bed beside him.

"I need to know, for cake."

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Diego's mouth. He held his hands up in front of him, spreading all his fingers out.

"Ten," Machi remarked. Diego curled his hands into fists, then spread his fingers out again. "Twenty," Machi said. "Thirty. Forty. Forty-six."

Diego nodded. He lowered his hands, resting them in his lap. _Forty-six_. He should have a wife and kids by now. He should be trying to make partner, or running his own law firm. He thought about his parents, his father working two low-paid jobs and his mother cleaning rich people's houses so that their only child could be a professional and have a better life. He was glad they had died before they saw how he'd squandered all their hard work.

Machi saw the change in his posture and expression, and rested a hand on his back.

"Is Sunday," he said hopefully. "Maybe you get birthday card today. Or visitor."

Diego smirked briefly and shook his head. He saw Machi looking at him in surprise and turned his head away.

"…No?" Machi's voice came out small and sad. "Not even today?"

Diego shook his head again. What the hell was up with this sudden heat in his face? He'd known for years that he would die in here, alone and forgotten, without a soul on God's green earth to mourn him.

The blanket rustled as Machi shifted closer, and he moved his arm up onto Diego's shoulders.

"When I finish my jail, I come and visit," he murmured. "Then you have visitor."

Diego gave a small sigh, and shook his head. _Don't make that promise, kid. The best thing you can do is forget this place and go on with your life._

"I _will._"

The sudden vehemence in Machi's voice surprised him. Diego turned his head. Machi was gazing up at him with a look of almost offended determination.

"In Borginia, a man keep his word," he said fiercely. "If I say I come, then I come."

Diego stared at him, wracking his brain for a way to express the difference between a headshake that meant _No you won't, you little liar_ and _You don't have to do that, kid_. Machi continued before he could even try.

"You believe me?"

The intensity in Machi's blue eyes startled him. Diego felt hope brushing up against his soul, and was torn between embracing it and shutting it out.

"You think I forget you," Machi murmured. He lifted his arm, and Diego flinched when he felt Machi stroke his hair. "Like everyone else. But you my friend, Diego. I never forget."

Diego looked away. Really, this lump in his throat was _ridiculous._

_xxx_


	14. The God That Failed

August. It just had to be August. As if there weren't enough comparisons already.

It was a blisteringly hot Sunday, and the screws had allowed Machi a half-hour in the music room during the worst heat of the day. He'd gotten sunburned a few times already that summer. The cheap sunblock the inmates were forced to slop on themselves before going outside was useless on his fair skin. They let Diego join him - probably because they didn't want to strain themselves hauling him to the infirmary if he got heatstroke. Diego made a gesture with his hand and his mouth as they sat at the piano, Machi messing around with phrases and jazz riffs.

"I sing?"

Diego nodded.

Machi shrugged and gave him a smile. "I not have training since voice change, so maybe not very good, but I try."

He began to sing a song in Borginian, accompanying himself on the piano. Diego hadn't a clue what it meant, but the sound of the language and Machi's clear singing voice was beautiful. Diego felt a little twinge of sadness as he listened. He'd never had any aspirations to be a singer, and he hadn't had lessons since his elementary school choir days, but it was still one more thing he would never do again. Not that there was much to sing about in prison, he thought with a smirk.

_Lack of awareness of one's surroundings – check._

Machi finished the song, and the final notes seemed to hang in the air before slowly fading away. Diego smiled at him, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

There was a loud, dull THUMP and Machi was thrown forward against the piano. Diego twisted around and something – a fist, a forearm, he couldn't tell and never found out – hit him in the throat. He toppled backwards, choking, his Adam's apple in his mouth. Somebody grabbed him, twisting his arms up and behind him, forcing him to kneel up. Through the haze he saw Gavin and Portsman pull Machi off the piano and throw him down. They dragged him a short distance away, manoeuvring him so that he and Diego were face to face, and forced him to kneel too.

Crescend stepped in between them.

_Underestimation of one's opponent – check._

Diego struggled with all his might. Machi was about to be beaten to a pulp. He knew it just as he knew that Gavin had paid off the guard outside the music room. He craned his head around and back, trying to see who was holding him. When he saw Redd White's smug, grinning face above him he nearly roared. He squirmed and pulled, flailing his head around to try and bite him, strings of foaming drool flying everywhere. White had run to fat while in prison, but his arms were tree trunks, and each hand was a vice of sinew and bone. Diego doubled his efforts. _Can't give up. I can take him. I can take -_

A fist smashed into the good side of his face, making his ears ring.

"Now now, Mondo."

Gant – _how could that old man hit so hard?_ - grabbed a fistful of his hair and made him lift his head up. He smiled down at Diego, radiating menace. "Be a good boy for Uncle, and it'll all be over soon."

Diego felt blood pooling in the slack side of his mouth. Machi was coming to his senses, trying to struggle. Gavin's arm moved slightly and Machi arched his back, a cry of pain escaping his lips before he could choke it back.

"How about that, you fucking motor-mouth punk?" Crescend snarled, his lip curling into a sneer of contempt. "I got friends too."

The first punch broke Machi's nose. White pulled Diego to the side, making sure he could see every single hit. Each punch was deliberate, controlled, smack into his face. Destroying it. White blood ran down from his eyebrow, his nose, out of his mouth. It nauseated Diego, reminding him of something much worse, something that might still happen if Crescend was so inclined. He tried to get free, but White was holding him too tightly, and Gant still had him by the hair. The hard, flat _slap_ of fist on flesh filled the air, and Machi didn't make a sound.

At last Crescend stepped back, and Portsman and Gavin let Machi go. He fell face first onto the carpet, unable to get his arms down in time to break his fall. Crescend kicked him hard in the side of the stomach, and he rolled onto his back.

"Get his shirt."

Diego felt a surge of relief – at least Crescend hadn't said pants – but it was short-lived. Portsman wrestled Machi's undershirt off him, and he and Gavin dragged him back to the piano stool. They threw him on it lengthways, face down, arms dangling over either side, and tied his wrists to one of the legs with the cloth. For a horrible moment Diego thought they were going to rape the boy right in front of him. But then White let go of Diego's arms, and Portsman and Crescend held him instead.

White was holding Machi's head so that the worst side of his face was pressed against the piano stool. The other side was turned towards Diego. Crescend had turned most of the boy's face into hamburger, but he'd left one eye untouched, and now Diego realised why. So he could watch.

Gavin stood in front of him, leaning down to his level.

"Well now, Armando."

He reached out and Diego tried to flinch away. He got a punch in the gut for his trouble. Gavin reached out again and wrenched his visor off. Diego heard it clatter as Gavin threw it across the room.

Crescend had worked Machi's face. Now Gavin worked Diego's body. Squeamish about getting drool on his knuckles. Crescend and Portsman let him sag between them, bent at the waist so that Gavin could kick his stomach and ribs. He could hear Machi struggling, trying to get free, trying to make them stop. Someone grabbed his good wrist and twisted it. There was a crack, searing pain. Diego bit his lip, swallowing his agony. Machi hadn't screamed; he wouldn't either. They let go of his arms and he collapsed down, face hitting the carpet.

"I told you," Crescend hissed in his ear, one hand fisted in Diego's hair. "You're a fucking cripple and he's a snotty little brat. Don't ever try to push me around again."

He slammed Diego's head into the floor. Diego stayed where he was, listening to them leave. Tears from his bad eye pooled under his cheek, soaking into the carpet. He heard Machi struggling to free himself.

"Diego."

Stupid. So fucking stupid. He knew _everything_, didn't he? Arrogant enough to think a blind, half-dead old man could scare off someone who was younger, stronger and had to fight for his life every single day.

"Diego!"

Too cocky to see the warning signs. Too sure that he knew what Crescend was capable of and what resources he had at his disposal. It was Hawthorne all over again.

"Diego, don't die!"

He forced himself to move, dragging himself along the carpet with his forearms. Machi kept calling him, showing him what direction to crawl. Fire was filling up his wrist, his shoulders, his ribs. It seemed like forever before he butted up against the metal legs of the piano stool. Diego felt around with his bad hand for Machi's wrists. He pawed at the cloth while Machi struggled to reach it with his fingers, twisting and bending his hands and wrists. Between the two of them, they finally got the knot untied.

Machi propped him up against the piano stool, and used his undershirt to make a sling for Diego's broken wrist.

"Stay here." Machi was mumbling. Diego hoped it was a good sign that he was talking at all. He was worried that the boy's jaw was broken. "I find your mask."

He heard the boy moving away, the sounds of instruments and music stands being moved around as he searched for the visor. A few minutes later the device was pushed into his bad hand. Machi guided Diego as he slid it onto his face.

Nothing.

"Is broken?"

Machi's voice was small and fearful.

Diego heaved a sigh.

He heard Machi moving, then felt a warm, strong shoulder under his bad arm as Machi hoisted him up on his feet.

"Come, I help you."

It hit him all of a sudden as they moved towards the door, and Diego nearly collapsed with the force of it. Machi's face was pulp – maybe broken – because of Diego's arrogant stupidity. And now Machi had to drag him to the infirmary. He was literally dead weight around the boy's neck. A big dry sob escaped Diego's chest before he could stop it. He held onto Machi's shoulder tightly, swallowing the ones that threatened to follow, willing his good eye to stay dry. He couldn't go to pieces here and make Machi deal with that too.

They barely made it a few steps out of the music room before a screw arrived and saw them.

"Holy _shit_."

Diego felt Machi begin to tremble as the screw radioed for help. They were rescued, the adrenaline was wearing off, and he was going into shock. They slid clumsily into a sitting position on the floor. Diego buried his hand in Machi's hair, running his fingers through the golden locks. He felt dried blood and tried not to cry.

_I'm so sorry, kid. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you._

_xxx_

Diego lay blind in the infirmary for three days while they patched him up and repaired his visor. He didn't know where Machi was. He wouldn't have asked about him even if he could. He'd given too much away already, stroking Machi's hair in front of the screws. Prison guards weren't exactly enlightened to begin with, they worked under the constant threat of sexual assault, and the ones who came by every day to interrogate him had already made up their minds.

"Maybe you did it to each other, huh?" After they asked him who did it and got a shrug in response. "Lover's quarrel get outta hand?"

Diego snorted, regretting it immediately as it sent a jolt of pain through his cracked ribs.

"What, you try for a little more on your date in the music room?" the same screw asked. "He wouldn't go past first base?"

Diego flipped him off with his bad hand.

"Okay, Armando." The other one now. "You don't wanna co-operate? Then Tobaye beat you up. And you beat him up. So maybe we should separate you two for a while, huh? Keep you outta trouble?"

Diego looked away. _Go ahead and do whatever the hell you want. I'm no good for him anyway._

The only silver lining was that neither of them had been raped. Crescend wasn't there for that, and he'd made sure the others weren't, either. Maybe he had some scruples after all. Maybe he was saving it for later. Diego didn't care. Behind his sightless eyes he kept seeing Machi with white dripping down his face, prone on the piano stool, and he shuddered at what might have been. Just one more way this awful place could ruin a boy like him. A boy who didn't deserve to be here, a boy led astray by someone older and wiser.

_And then let down by someone old and foolish._ Diego screwed his eyes shut and tried to sleep.

_xxx_

They gave him back his visor and let him out of the infirmary on the morning of the fourth day. Diego couldn't help looking out for Machi as he stood in line in the mess hall, gripping his tray as tightly as possible with one wrist in plaster and the other hand partially paralysed. He was terrified of how the boy would look.

It wasn't until he'd received his meal and had left the line that he saw him, sitting at their usual table. Diego's heart sank as he looked at him. The boy had a heck of a shiner, the flesh swollen and blue-black even though it was four days later. His nose was held in place with surgical tape. His cheeks and jaw were puffy, and bore small brown and purple bruises from Crescend's knuckles. A big dark scab slashed his bottom lip in half.

Despite his mangled face, Machi smiled when he saw Diego approaching. Diego managed to smile back, but it faded quickly when he saw the damage up close. He winced as he sat down, body stiff and bruised from the beating.

"You okay?" Machi asked.

Diego mustered another smile, and nodded. Machi's gaze fell on Diego's cast, and the sad, guilty look that appeared on his face threatened to break Diego's heart in two. He reached out with his bad hand and tilted Machi's chin up. _Don't do that, kid. It wasn't your fault – I'm the one who fucked up._

"Hey Armando, you gonna kiss him better?"

Diego dropped his hand and looked around. Their attackers were crowded together at a nearby table. Portsman was the one who'd spoken. White guffawed, Gavin chuckled, and Gant clapped his hands at such a fine example of devastating wit.

Crescend just smirked.

Diego scowled and turned his attention to his meal. At least he had his back to them, so they wouldn't see what a mess he made now that he had to use his bad hand to feed himself. That was why Gavin – he was sure it was Gavin – had broken his good wrist. To humiliate him. He fumed as he struggled with his cereal, milk dripping off the spoon and onto his lap. Bastards. _Bastards._ Sitting there all pals now, after keeping it under wraps all these months. They were lucky he didn't have any strength left. He was already doing life for one murder, what was five more? Pick 'em off one by one. Space them out and make each one look like an accident. Diego curled his shaky fingers around his spoon. Sore and weak as he was, he still felt like going over there, gouging out Crescend's eyeballs, and feeding them to him.

Then Diego glanced up at Machi, and what he saw on the boy's face poured cold water on all his revenge fantasies. Machi's pride was smarting just as much as his own, and that Crescend had been the one to humiliate him only made him angrier. He was young and didn't realise how quickly three years went by, even in a place like this. He didn't understand that it was better to swallow the insult and do his time, because the payoff was worth so much more than vengeance. He had no idea how much he had to lose.

And he seemed determined to find out the hard way. Whenever Crescend was nearby, Machi followed him with his eyes – one ice blue, the white of the other a baleful yellow, and both of them filled with hate. Each time, Diego fought the urge to reach out and grab Machi's shirt, just in case. He spent the days with a feeling of sick, dreadful anticipation in his stomach. He couldn't watch the boy twenty-four seven. It was only a matter of time. If only he had words, if only he had a _voice_, maybe he could explain it.

But he had a horrible feeling that Machi wouldn't listen, anyway.

_xxx_

They were making their usual round of the yard when Machi suddenly stopped, looking past Diego.

"There," he murmured.

Diego turned his head to look. Crescend was standing a short distance away by the fence, enjoying a cigarette.

Machi turned and started to walk past him, eyes filled with hate and murder. Diego threw out his bad arm, catching Machi across the chest and curling his fingers as best he could into his sleeve. Machi stopped in surprise, confusion and anger warring on his face.

Diego frowned at him and shook his head.

"He alone!" Machi hissed, gesturing at Crescend. The boy was right; for the first time since the beating, Crescend was in the yard without any of his allies. He clenched a fist in front of his face. "I can punish him."

Diego stepped in front of him, blocking his path, and shook his head again, harder this time. _You won't stop at punishment, kid. It's all over your face, and I won't let you do it._

Machi backed up a step, and for a moment Diego thought he'd managed to defuse the situation.

"Okay," he said. "We wait till your arm better. Then we both take him."

Diego clenched his shaky fingers in Machi's shirt, thumping his forearm lightly on the boy's chest. He scowled at him, and shook his head slowly, emphatically.

"Nuh…No!"

Machi started away from him, and at first Diego thought it was the shock at hearing him speak. But then Machi's expression darkened, and he pushed Diego's arm away from his chest.

"You fucking coward," Machi snarled.

Diego felt a sudden surge of anger, and before he could stop himself, he cracked the back of his bad hand right across Machi's face.

He didn't stay to watch the look of surprise and hurt spread across the boy's face, just turned on his heel and limped away. _You know, kid, I COULD goad you into ripping Crescend apart, and have myself a roommate till check-out time. Instead I try to do you a favour, and that's how you thank me? Fine. Go ahead and throw your life away over a black eye and a broken nose. Why should I care? I'm not your father._

He shook the throb out of his bad hand, and resisted the temptation to look back.

Diego didn't see Machi at dinner, but he did see Crescend – sitting with Gavin, Portsman, White and Gant, alive and unscathed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe the boy had some sense after all.

_xxx_

Despite their threats in the infirmary, the screws hadn't split Diego and Machi up. Now Diego wished they had. The boy was sullen and moody, casting dirty looks in his direction when he thought Diego wasn't looking. A part of Diego knew he should apologise for slapping Machi, but the rest of him stubbornly refused. He'd stopped Tigre from face-fucking the boy, and taken one hell of a nut-shot for his trouble, but apparently Machi had a short memory. If he felt disappointed and angry, it was his own damn fault for getting fond of Machi. There were no friends in prison. It was time he remembered that.

But that didn't banish the fluttery, hopeful feeling he got in his stomach when Machi loped sheepishly up to him in the exercise yard a few days later.

"I sit here?" he asked quietly.

Diego looked past him – he was supposed to still be angry, after all – then turned his head away slightly and shrugged.

Machi's face fell a little, but he took a seat on the ground next to Diego anyway. For a few minutes, he didn't say anything. Diego gazed across the yard, resisting the temptation to look at him.

He heard Machi take a deep breath.

"Diego, I sorry for what I say," he murmured shamefacedly. "I know you not a coward. I was angry. I sorry." He leaned forward, trying to look Diego in the eye. "Say we friends again?"

The bitter part of Diego, the part that held onto all the loose grounds of injustice in his cup of life, wanted to flip the boy off and walk away, wanted to say _you let me down, kid, and I'm all out of second chances._ But the rest of him had forgiven Machi already, and had only held out for those two little words. He smirked, and butted Machi with his shoulder.

A big, relieved smile broke out on Machi's face, and he butted Diego back. Diego's smirk broadened, and he ruffled Machi's shaggy blond mane. The intense hatred was gone from the boy's eyes, but a hint of darkness still lurked behind the smile. Diego sobered a little – he would have to watch that. But at least now it seemed like Machi was willing to learn.

"I understand now," Machi said. He turned his head away, and as Diego followed his gaze, he saw Crescend doing bench-presses with Portsman spotting him. White was nearby, working on his biceps. When Diego looked at the prisoners outside the gym area, he spotted Gavin and Gant, deep in conversation, but close enough to come to Crescend's aid should the need arise. "There's too many of them."

Diego heaved a quiet sigh. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he'd take it for now. Crescend was savvy enough to keep his new alliances a secret until he sprung the trap; he could probably maintain them long enough for Machi's desire for vengeance to fade.

In the meantime, he had his friend back.

Diego patted Machi on the shoulder and got up. Machi rose with him, and they started on a circuit of the exercise yard, side by side.


	15. Fever Dreams

Summer stretched into fall. Machi's bruises faded, but a little bump remained on his nose where it had been broken. Diego's wrist healed, and luckily his fine motor control hadn't been affected. Now and then Machi went quiet, lying on his bunk and brooding. Diego told himself it was just part of growing up.

A new equilibrium existed by the time fall sharpened into winter. Crescend's allies still gathered around him, Gavin sniped at Diego, and Portsman, emboldened by his new status, catcalled whenever he saw Diego and Machi together. But there were no more attacks, and to Diego's relief Machi's only response was to fire insults right back. The danger had passed.

_xxx_

November brought the first flurries of snow, and a tickle in Diego's throat that slowly mutated into a deep, persistent cough. It was worst at night and it kept him awake, his throat raw and his stomach lurching with each chesty, wet hack. Machi sat up with him, rubbing his back. Trying to soothe him so they could both get some sleep.

"Diego." Machi sat beside him at mealtimes now, instead of across from him. So Diego wouldn't cough germs all over his food. It wasn't so he could wipe flecks of food and phlegm away from Diego's mouth without the other prisoners seeing. That was just a happy coincidence. "You look like toilet. I saying something today."

Diego shrugged. It wasn't the first cold he'd caught in prison. He'd shake it off. The room swam in front of him suddenly, and he shut his eyes until the feeling went away.

_xxx_

Half the prison was coughing and sneezing. After mealtimes everyone with symptoms was lined up outside the dispensary and given a dose of cough and cold medicine. Diego stared down into the small plastic cup of white liquid, and tried to ignore the unpleasant associations that went with the colour as he brought it to his lips and swallowed.

"Hey. Hey!"

There was a commotion as Machi barged into the line ahead of Tyrell Badd.

"Hey, wait your turn!" the dispensary nurse snapped. Machi ignored him and grabbed Diego's sleeve.

"My friend Diego, he cough all night, he need better medicine –"

"Everyone gets the same," the nurse declared firmly.

"He need doctor!" Machi yelled.

"So do half these guys," the nurse shot back. "He'll get an appointment, he has to wait his turn."

"But he need doctor now!" Machi put his hands on the glass divider separating the dispensary nurse from convicts jonesing for a fix. It was only for a second, but it was enough to prompt a guard to come over and shove Machi away from the window.

"You're on thin ice, Tobaye," the guard warned. Diego reached out and grabbed Machi's arm, afraid the boy might take a swing at the guard and spend the winter cooling his heels in solitary. Machi jerked slightly in his grasp, but he kept his hands at his sides. Diego let him go once the guard was out of range.

"I make someone listen," Machi declared. He looked at Diego, face set in a stony, serious expression. "I promise."

Diego nodded, and patted him on the shoulder. He knew the boy was wasting his time. The doc would see him when she saw him and that was it. No jumping the queue unless it was life and death.

But it was good of him to try.

_xxx_

Diego had known he was getting worse, and yet the day of reckoning still came without warning. He woke that morning feeling like three-day-old coffee left out on the windowsill. The night before was hell itself. He'd come to his senses at one point to find Machi cradling him on the floor. He couldn't remember how he'd got there – there was only a vague sense of receding panic about a stranger in the room with him. Going down to breakfast, his legs felt weak and shaky. He was alternately too hot and too cold. On work detail, he hung onto the dryer for support.

It hurt to take deep breaths.

"Everybody outside!"

Had they eaten lunch? He could taste cough medicine but he couldn't remember drinking it. Machi was saying something. He was helping Diego on with his prison-issue jacket.

The snow was dazzling in the weak winter sunlight as Diego stumbled into the exercise yard like a drunk. It was the wrong time of year but he was reminded of the freezing mountain winter, the burning pain in his face and the sweat dripping down his back. Huge chunks of that trial were missing, obliterated by fever and the horror of what he'd done. Machi was holding him tightly, trying to keep him upright. He was talking again but Diego couldn't understand him.

The cold air stung his throat and lungs and he began to cough. He pushed away from Machi, leaning on his knees as the pain in his back got worse. He gagged and retched and spat a gob of phlegm onto the ground.

He couldn't see it in the snow.

Diego tasted metal.

He heard Machi yell as he began to cough again. His knees gave out and he slumped over, the cold biting into him as he hit the ground. He spat again – more metallic phlegm that vanished in the whiteness. Diego couldn't help smirking at the irony of it. A million ways to die, and he was going on his belly in the snow.

He was just sorry that Machi had to see this.

_xxx_

_o2 iS dRoPpInG_

_They stood over him, hazy shadows behind a veil, light glinting on the scalpels. He could feel the cold metal pins in his elbows, fastening him to the table. All ready for dissection._

_dRaIn ThE fLuId_

_They moved closer, cruel sharp steel descending towards his flesh. He had no voice to scream any more._

_There was pressure first. The pain came later, a sharp pinch that became a white-hot burn. Metal intruding into his body._

_iNtUbAtE_

_There were dead things. Hair and eyeballs in tangled clumps. Dead things moving._

_The powdery layer of fresh snow was slowly dissolving in the spreading, invisible blood._

_sEdAtE hIm_

_xxx_

When Diego opened his eyes, he couldn't see. The darkness was comforting – it meant he wasn't dreaming any more. One by one, his other senses began to register.

The pins were still there. No – needles, one in each arm.

There was a dull ache in his back on one side.

There was the beep of a heart monitor.

He could smell the hospital.

Machines. More machines, all around, tying him down and trapping him. Diego fought down the rising panic. There was something on his face. He tried to stretch his good hand, and a wave of relief washed over him when it responded. He lifted his arm – it felt weak and floppy, but _normal_, not heavy or strapped down – and touched his hand to his face. His fingers traced the outline of an oxygen mask.

Diego slid his hand lower, to his bare chest, and brushed over the sensors for the heart monitor. He shifted in the bed, and grimaced at the familiar feel of a catheter. He wriggled his toes, and again his body responded normally.

Diego allowed himself to relax. Not so bad then. He could move and he was conscious. He was exhausted, but apart from the pain in his back, which was neither as intense nor as internal as it had been in the exercise yard, he felt all right. Maybe not dying after all. His mouth twitched into a smirk at the sudden feeling of gladness that came over him. Not so long ago he would have welcomed death's bitter embrace.

But back then he'd had nothing to live for.

_You're a hopeless case, Armando._ Diego closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

_xxx_

An infection, they said. If they'd caught it a couple weeks earlier, a simple course of antibiotics would've cleared it up. The pain in his back was from where they'd had to drain the fluid from his lung. He would be fine now, though. They kept stressing that part. He'd need to stay under observation for a while, but he was out of the woods.

There were no apologies, not even from the good-looking doctor, and he didn't expect any.

Diego wasn't sure how long he'd been in the infirmary. There was no window, so he couldn't track the time by the sun on his face, and they weren't letting him have anything via mouth yet. A nurse – a male nurse, like most of them; a few more pretty kittens on the staff would be nice – had finally finished poking and prodding him. He'd been alone long enough to drift into a light doze when the sound of the door opening jolted him awake.

"Diego?"

He recognised the voice, and turned towards it as best he could.

"Diego!"

There was movement near him, and long, slender fingers attached to a broad palm clasped his hand.

"Diego, you alive!"

That couldn't be a catch in Machi's voice. He was imagining things. Painkillers making him loopy. Diego felt a warm forehead, covered in a shaggy fringe, brush against his own. "I so afraid that you die and they not tell me."

Diego was floored. He tried to believe that Machi just didn't want to face Crescend's new gang alone, but he couldn't ignore the little hitches of breath, or how tightly the boy was squeezing his hand. Suddenly all he could think of was how scary it must look to Machi: the oxygen mask, the heart monitor, the bags and drips and drains. He had to show him that he was going to be okay.

Diego withdrew his hand from Machi's and reached out for his face. The boy understood, guiding Diego's hand to his cheek. Diego felt along the boy's stubbly jaw, raising his eyebrows at the coarseness of the hairs. He ran his thumb over Machi's nose, smirking slightly when he felt the bump where Crescend had broken it. There was wetness under Machi's eyes, and he tried to wipe it away.

"Diego…" Machi murmured.

Diego shifted a little on his pillows and slid his hand into Machi's hair. He smiled, hoping the boy could see it behind the oxygen mask.

The door opened suddenly.

"Hey! Hey, this is a restricted area!"

Machi moved away quickly, putting Diego's hand back by his side as he did so. "Okay!" Diego heard him standing up. "I come quietly." There was more movement, and a snap of handcuffs. "I see you soon, Diego."

As Machi was hustled out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him and his escorts, Diego shifted on the bed and tried to digest what had happened. He knew the boy was getting attached, but he never thought he was getting _this_ attached. Sneaking in here – crying over him –

It wasn't good.

As for the sudden prickle at his own eyes, that was just the dry hospital air. It had nothing to do with the fact that Machi was the first person in fourteen years to care whether Diego lived or died.


	16. Recovery

Slowly, gradually, the stuff they were pumping into Diego began to work. One by one, the wires and tubes were taken away. They let him eat, and even let him have a cup of coffee now and then.

As his strength began to creep back into his body, Diego wondered how Machi was doing. He couldn't help smirking whenever he thought about the boy sneaking in to see him. It was the sort of stupid stunt Diego would've pulled back in his younger days. He hoped Machi hadn't gotten into too much trouble. More than that, he hoped Machi wouldn't try to get back in. Last thing the boy needed was another punishment.

And yet he couldn't quite banish the little twinge of disappointment as the days turned into weeks and Machi didn't visit him again.

_xxx_

At last the day came when Diego wasn't sick enough to take up space in the infirmary any more. A nurse helped him on with his stripes and two screws took him back up to the wing.

If Machi _had _spent the intervening days worried sick about Diego, he didn't show it. The boy lay on his bunk, reading a book, and stayed put as the screws unlocked the cell and nudged Diego inside.

"Hey, Tobaye! How about giving your boyfriend a nice welcome-back kiss?"

Machi's only response was to lick his finger and turn a page. Diego looked away as a smirk crossed his face. Smart kid. Disappointed by the boy's reaction, the screws left the cell, locking up behind them.

Diego hobbled over to his bunk. He was tired, and his bad leg was complaining about suddenly having to bear his weight after so long in bed. He put a hand on the frame to steady himself, and Machi looked up at him. A warm, tired smile lit up the boy's face.

"Welcome back, Diego."

_xxx_

No matter what the docs and pencil-pushers thought, Diego was a long way from fully recovered. He was exhausted, the kind of deep-in-the-bones tiredness that comes when the body has been through an ordeal. For a change the higher-ups showed some compassion, and he was allowed to stay in his cell and sleep. They prodded him awake for meals and medication, but otherwise he was left in peace.

Sometimes Diego would drift out of a doze to find Machi adjusting his blanket, making sure it was up on his shoulders and covered him properly. It was nothing that nurses hadn't done for him several times, during his recovery from the coma and his illnesses since then…but it was their job to make sure he was warm and comfortable. They didn't linger, like Machi did, smoothing down the blanket over his shoulders or back. They didn't perch on the edge of his bed or run a hand through his hair. Little touches that had nothing to do with physical comfort; they were purely to make him _feel better._

It had been a long, long time since Diego had had anyone in his life who just wanted to make him feel better. When he woke from his coma, the first person he'd asked for after Mia was his mother, and the doctors had had to tell him that she was dead too. Twenty months of watching her only child hang suspended between life and death had finally killed her. The people he'd counted as friends were all gone. Jake Marshall and Lana Skye were both in prison. Poor little Neil Marshall was dead. Angel Starr was out of state, setting up franchises of her new business. Even Robert Hammond from the old firm was dead. Amazing to think how much could change in just five years.

He'd been too angry, in the short time he'd been awake and free, to care much about being alone. Since his incarceration, any pangs of loneliness he felt were easily quashed when he reminded himself that a selfish, stupid murderer didn't deserve sympathy or visitors or a friend. But now, every time Machi's fingers ghosted over him, all the tears he'd never shed, all the way back to when he first woke up to find no-one waiting for him, threatened to break free.

He didn't know why he'd been granted this reprieve, however temporary, from his loneliness. And maybe it was only pity on Machi's part. The boy's tender age was what caused Diego to protect him on that first day; maybe Diego's medical problems, especially his blindness, reminded Machi of his mother, inspired similar protective feelings. It didn't matter. Machi would be gone in just over two years, and Diego was going to enjoy his company while it lasted.

_xxx_

November wore on. Every day, Diego needed less sleep. His appetite and his energy began to return. He was able to spend a few hours a day in the rec room while the other inmates played in the snow like big kids. He was getting well.

"You look much better."

Diego smirked at the compliment. He was lying on his bunk – fully dressed and above the covers for a change – with his hands laced behind his head. Machi was leaning against the wall next to the bars. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Diego had been informed that morning that it was his last day of "loafing around". He was actually glad. Power and alliances were constantly shifting in prison, and it wasn't good to be out of the loop for so long. He couldn't question Machi about what was going on outside their cell, and even if he could, Machi was still a newcomer – not yet attuned to the pulse of the big house.

Machi faced the bars and called to one of the guards as he made his rounds.

"Hey boss, I have my sweets now?"

Machi's mom had sent him another care package. The boy's face lit up when he got it, and it made Diego happy. He hadn't forgotten how dejected Machi had been when he'd discovered that he had an older brother. _What if she forget me_, he'd mumbled. Every letter and visit since had reassured Machi that she never would.

Diego sat up as Machi approached the bunk, drawing his legs up so the boy had room to sit down. He was holding a little bag bearing a logo and Borginian pictograms. Machi emptied a handful of large chocolates onto the blanket, then put half back in the bag and handed it to Diego. The other half he scooped up in a paper napkin swiped from the mess hall.

Diego smiled his thanks and carefully bit into one of the chocolates. He lifted an eyebrow at the dark, almost bitter chocolate and the coffee-flavoured centre.

_Hey, kitten, want to try some of my coffee candy?_

After that disastrous trial, Mia became timid and withdrawn, and Diego was at a loss for how to snap her out of it. He settled on teasing her gently about being too young to drink coffee, hoping he could provoke her into unsheathing her claws again. One day she swiped his mug out of his hand and drank it off, scalding temperature and all. It was one of his stronger blends, and she'd spent the morning bouncing off the walls before crashing just after lunch with a killer headache. He'd taken her into his office where she could lie on his couch, and offered to buy her dinner by way of apology.

"_Wait…are you asking me out?"_

_He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks._

"…_Maybe."_

That was how they'd started. He'd had plenty of women before that, but Mia was the first one he had deep, real feelings for. She made him think about babies and houses and growing old together. God, he'd loved her so much, and they'd had so little time. It wasn't fair.

"Hey, Diego?"

Diego looked up at Machi, and quickly wiped away the drool that was trickling into his beard. The boy flashed him a brief smile, then his expression turned serious.

"I talk to my...my lawyer," he remarked. "He think you can sue. He say, you almost died, is negligence."

Diego smirked and began to shake his head. Monetary compensation wouldn't do him any good. Sure, they'd probably settle the second he got lawyered up, but he'd never be allowed to touch it –

"He say the money would go to your victim's family."

Diego paused. He hadn't considered that. He'd sat in on several settlement negotiations with Hammond when he was a rookie lawyer, and a few of them involved medical negligence. As a prisoner, he would probably be awarded considerably less than a law-abiding citizen – maybe something in the region of five figures. But even ten grand could do a lot if invested wisely. He wondered if Machi's lawyer could arrange it so that Pearl got half. He didn't think Iris would be legally allowed to benefit from any settlement awarded to him. Even though he'd bullied her into it, in the eyes of the law she was his accomplice. Still, no matter who got it or how it was divided up, he owed them all _something_ for the hell he'd put them through. He had to sue, even if Maya ripped up the cheque and burned it.

"I tell my lawyer to come see you?" Machi asked.

Diego nodded, and gave him a smile.

_xxx_

Diego paused as he joined the line in the mess hall, taking in the smell of a thousand past meals hanging in the air, the low hum of conversation and the clink of metal against plastic – all confirmation that everything was back to normal, that _he_ was back to normal. There were several times during the first year of his sentence when he thought he'd crack up from the monotony of the prison routine. Now the familiarity of it was comforting, and Diego knew that was a bad sign. He smirked briefly as he accepted his cereal and made his way to his usual table. _Good thing I'll die in here. Zoo animals don't stand a chance in the wild._

Diego stopped a couple of feet away from his table and frowned. Three young punks were sitting in his and Machi's spot. He didn't recognise them. One of them was about a head taller and much broader in the shoulders than the others. Of the shorter two, one was ginger, the other brunet. All three of them had close-cropped hair. They had been talking among themselves, but now they were staring at him.

"Keep moving, old man," the brunet snapped. "This seat's taken."

"Someone smells of _piss_," the ginger one said in a stage whisper, before guffawing far too loudly.

Diego growled, wishing for the days when he could haul both of them out of their seats and make an example of them. He walked past them to the next table. The only place to sit was beside Matt Engarde. Years of drug abuse had taken their toll on him, and he was rocking slightly and scratching compulsively at his cheek. Diego grimaced, but he didn't see a better option. He carefully placed his tray on the table next to Engarde.

Then he turned, placed his good hand on the back of Ginger's head, and slammed his face into the table as hard as he could.

Ginger screamed, and Diego smirked. _First rule of prison, amigo, you don't give the bastards the satisfaction. You're so fresh, you're still wriggling on the hook._ Brunet leapt to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him.

"You fucking old fuck, you're gonna pay for that!" he roared. "You got any idea who the fuck we are?"

_Three little mice in the lion's den. _Keeping his eyes on Brunet, Diego carefully moved his cereal and his cup of juice off his tray. He picked the tray up in his good hand and began to tap it against his bad hand. The other prisoners were watching. The screws were on their way over. Diego noticed with interest that Big Stuff was still in his seat, despite the injury to Ginger and Brunet spoiling for a fight.

"Sit down!"

There was a loud slap. Brunet yowled and flinched, and Diego smirked. Machi was standing behind Brunet, his face contorted in anger.

"What the fuck, man?" Brunet wailed. He pointed at Diego. "He started it!"

"That my friend Diego," Machi growled. "_Best_ friend. You in his seat."

Diego's smirk broadened as Brunet hastily gathered his bowl, spoon and cup and moved down a seat.

"There a problem here?"

Machi turned to look at the screws as they came up to the table.

"Is no problem," he answered.

Diego shook his head.

"No problem," Big Stuff murmured.

"Then sit your asses down and hurry up," the screw growled. The guards dispersed, a couple of them staying behind to make sure there was no more trouble.

Diego put his cereal and juice back on the tray, checking them quickly for blood and skin flakes, and sat down in his usual place. Machi sat next to him and shot the punks a glare.

"This my friend Diego," he repeated. Ginger was still whimpering and Machi tapped his fingers on the table in front of him. Ginger hurriedly wiped his eyes. "My friend Diego," Machi said again. "Best friend." He touched Diego lightly on the arm. "Diego, this Oscar," he pointed to Brunet, "Tyler," he pointed to Ginger, "and Charlie." He pointed to Big Stuff.

Diego stared at the three punks. Oscar the hothead, Tyler the bigmouth, and Charlie the silent giant. Machi's new friends. Machi was saying something about showing Diego respect, but he tuned it out. He picked up his spoon and began to negotiate his cereal.

He was pretty sure the sour, sinking feeling in his stomach was betrayal.


	17. Justice

Diego found himself brooding about the situation during work detail. He told himself it was silly to be jealous. He'd been out of commission for almost a month – was it really so surprising that the boy looked around for other allies? It was nothing personal, just safety in numbers. Besides, he reminded himself, Machi had named him as his best friend, and warned the Three Stooges to mind their manners around him. Whatever else was going on, the boy wasn't about to drop him in favour of his new buddies.

He hoped.

At lunch, Tyler and Oscar fell silent as soon as Diego arrived at their table. Big stuff Charlie stood up and pulled Diego's chair out for him. As a show of respect, it was too much. Diego suspected sarcasm. He waited until Charlie took his hands off the chair before he sat down.

"Move." Machi butted Oscar with his shoulder. Oscar scowled and grudgingly moved down a seat, allowing Machi to sit next to Diego.

"How come he don't talk?" Oscar growled.

"Because you nobody," Machi snapped back.

Diego snorted and dug his spoon into his peas. As he chewed, he noticed Tyler staring at him, his head tilted to the side. Then the ginger-haired punk leaned forward and looked at Machi.

"Yo man, what's the deal?" Tyler asked in a loud whisper – though to his credit, Diego could tell he was genuinely trying to be discreet this time but failing miserably. "Is he like, your jailhouse bitch or something?"

The table suddenly jerked underneath Diego's elbows and Tyler yowled, his face contorted in pain. Diego glanced at Machi and lifted an eyebrow. If looks could kill, Tyler would've been slumped over in his mashed potatoes.

"You the bitch," Machi snarled. The table shifted again as he dealt Tyler another blow. "Say again and you _his _bitch." He nodded at Diego.

Oscar snickered and Charlie shifted slightly in his seat.

"Okay, okay!" Tyler protested. He ran his hand over his short ginger hair. "Jeez, I'm sorry already!"

It wasn't good enough for Machi. "Sorry _who_?"

Tyler scowled and shot Diego a sulky look. "Sorry, man."

Diego knew he should be grateful to Machi, but all he felt was a deep sense of unease.

As soon as lunch was over, they joined the herd heading for the exercise yard. There was some muttering between Oscar and Tyler when Machi took Diego's jacket off its peg and helped him on with it, but a glare from Machi made them both shut up.

"Uh-uh, Armando." A large hand descended on Diego's shoulder. Diego looked up to see a guard smirking at him. "An invalid like you needs to stay inside. We wouldn't want you to feel like we haven't taken good care of you, now would we?"

Diego answered with a bitter smirk of his own. The boy's lawyer must've contacted the prison already. How efficient. Must be hurting for work.

Machi shot Diego a questioning look, and Diego softened his smirk and jerked his head slightly at the guard. He shrugged off his jacket, and Machi hung it back up for him.

He joined the collection of old men in the rec room. Gant was snoozing in the corner, slumped in a tattered armchair, looking every bit his age without his intimidating stare. Badd was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to enjoy a lollipop without having to put up with "hur hur I got something else you can suck, five-oh". He had a goddaughter or a niece who sent them – Diego couldn't remember exactly. Yogi rocked slightly on the couch, seemingly oblivious to Amano flipping through the channels on the TV, over and over.

Diego turned away from the depressing tableau and gazed out the window. It took him only a few seconds to spot Machi and his friends, throwing snowballs at each other. Diego leaned on the windowsill and tracked them as they jogged around the yard, taking potshots at the other prisoners.

He wished he knew something more about this trio of punks than just their names. More than that, he wished he knew why they seemed so willing to do what Machi said.

_xxx_

That Sunday, Diego received his first letter in almost five years. He lay back on his bunk as he opened the envelope. He lifted an eyebrow at the letterhead reading _"Wright Anything Agency"_, then quickly glanced at the signature at the bottom. He let out a silent sigh of relief – the name read "Apollo Justice", not "Phoenix Wright". He didn't think he could take seeing Trite again after all these years, let alone have him represent him.

Diego read the letter through carefully. The meeting was scheduled for the following Wednesday, and Justice had arranged for Machi to be present as Diego's "interpreter". Diego couldn't help smirking – he was sure that request went down real well with the top brass. And yet somehow, Justice had convinced them to grant it.

Diego folded up the letter and slipped it under his pillow. He hated to admit it, but he was impressed. All Justice really _had_ to do was ask "yes" and "no" questions at the meeting, get Diego to make his mark on the paperwork and handle everything from there. Instead he'd not only arranged for an interpreter, he'd arranged for exactly the right man for the job. Someone had taught him well, and Diego found himself wondering whether he'd see Mia in this "Apollo Justice", the way he'd seen her in Trite.

_xxx_

The screws couldn't resist putting on a big production as they pulled Diego out of the queue of prisoners leaving the mess hall after breakfast.

"It's your _big day_ today, Armando. Yours too, Tobaye." Diego just smirked as his hands were secured and the screws flanked him on either side. "Got a real important visitor, haven't you?"

Diego tuned out the rest of the barbs as he and Machi were escorted to the special room set aside for inmates to visit with their lawyers, or occasionally Los Angeles' finest. It was a converted cell, with a large table and four chairs – all bolted down, of course. He and Machi were made to sit at the side of the table furthest from the bars. Two of the screws remained in the room with them.

Diego jogged his leg nervously while they waited. He was almost ashamed of how badly he wanted to set eyes on Apollo Justice. The name conjured up images of a heroic, chiselled figure, an avenging angel of the courtroom sent by God to defend the weak.

At last the bars slid back, and Apollo Justice entered the room. Diego choked back a laugh.

God had a sick sense of humour.

Apollo Justice was tiny. His smooth, baby-faced features made Machi look rugged by comparison. His hair was slicked right down except for two ridiculous, gelled-up spikes at the very front. He had a fat little stomach, and the white suit he wore did nothing to hide it. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled up – probably because they were too long for him. He looked like a cross between a busboy and an ice cream man.

The screws withdrew from the room as Justice approached the table and stood just outside the bars – far enough away that they wouldn't hear what was being said, but close enough to pull Justice to safety if Diego or Machi decided to flip out. Diego barely noticed. So _this_ was the lawyer who took down Gavin and Crescend and proved Machi's innocence. This _kid_ wearing his daddy's shirt.

Beside him, Machi was full of barely controlled excitement.

"Diego. Diego, this my lawyer, Apollo…" He trailed off, concentrating fiercely. "…Joostus!" He looked at Mr. Justice, anxious and eager at the same time. "I say it right? Juh. Juh."

Justice nodded, offering Machi a slightly pained smile. "Mr. Armando, I'm Apollo Justice, attorney-at-law." He offered Diego his hand. Diego stared at it for a few seconds – what the _hell_ was up with that gaudy bracelet? – then smirked and held up his shackled wrists.

Justice pulled his hand back and ran it over his hair, a sheepish look on his face. Diego noticed with amusement that his little hair antennae at the front sprang back up straight away. "Oh, right." He sat down and put his briefcase on the desk.

"Mr. Armando," Justice continued, pulling several papers out of his case, "I understand you have difficulty speaking, which is why I've asked for Machi to be here."

Diego nodded. He wet his lips, and managed, "Stroke."

"Right." Justice turned his attention to Machi. "I'm pretty sure the prison will settle. I found precedent…"

Diego narrowed his eyes as the young lawyer continued to explain his strategy…to Machi. He couldn't believe it. Justice actually assumed he was mentally incompetent. Diego rapped his knuckles angrily on the table. When Justice looked at him, Diego pointed to his ear.

"He say he not deaf," Machi explained immediately. "You talk to him, not me."

Justice squirmed slightly in his seat, and even though Diego couldn't see it, he bet the kid was blushing.

"I – I apologise," he stammered.

_Too late, kid._ Any respect Diego had for Apollo Justice had evaporated. He turned to Machi and shook his head, then began to stand up.

Justice leapt to his feet. "W-wait!"

"You blow it," Machi explained with a shrug.

The table rattled as Justice slammed both fists down on it.

"_Mr. Armando!"_

Diego stopped, surprised by the outburst. Little tomkitten had quite the roar. The screws came into the room at the commotion, and Justice held out his hand, gesturing for them to go back outside. Diego tilted his head to the side and waited to see what Justice did next.

"I know I put my foot in it just now," Justice went on, "but I'm ready to take your case. And if the prison administrators won't settle, I'm prepared to fight in court for you. Please, give me another chance."

There was something about Justice in that moment – no, not something. _Her_, right there in the kid's deep brown eyes. Her willingness to stand up for anybody who'd been wronged, even a convicted killer, to bring the truth to light and make sure the guilty were punished.

Diego smirked and sat back down.

Justice heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He took a seat, rearranging his papers as he did so.

Diego listened as Justice explained that he'd found precedent in the case of Lance Amano, who had almost died from a ruptured appendix because prison staff had repeatedly dismissed his complaints as "crying wolf". Diego nodded – he vaguely remembered the incident. It had put years on the elder Amano. Justice went on to say that the Amano case would be particularly useful if the prison's lawyers insisted on a trial, since Lance's crime bore some similarities to Diego's. Diego managed to cut Justice off by nodding vigorously and holding his shackled hands up, palms outward. He didn't want it spelled out - _you see, Amano also killed a young girl's long-lost parent_ - in front of Machi.

"And the settlement would go to your victim's next of kin, Maya Fey," Justice finished.

_What about Pearl? _Diego tapped on the table to get Justice's attention, then attempted to make the gesture for "child".

Justice frowned. "I – uh…" He looked at Machi.

"Is also little girl?" Machi asked.

Justice began to look through his papers.

"I don't _think_ so…"

Diego mentally kicked himself. Of course – Pearl would be nearly twenty-one by now. He wondered suddenly if she looked like Hawthorne, and shook his head slightly to banish the mental image.

At last Justice looked up. "Do you mean Pearl Fey?"

Diego let go a sigh of relief, and nodded. He placed his hands on the table, palms pressed together. He moved them over to the right, and then to the left.

"He want each to get half," Machi said.

"That's not a problem," Justice replied. He slid the necessary paperwork across the table, along with a pen. Diego pulled the forms closer to him, and picked up the pen with his good hand. He read through the document and pressed the pen against the paper where he was supposed to sign. He hesitated, then looked at Machi.

"Diego not write well," Machi explained. "I think only first name?" He looked at Diego for confirmation, and Diego nodded. He could manage a capital A, but r, m, a, n and d were strangers to him now.

"A first name is fine," Justice answered. "Or an X, if it's easier for you."

Diego smirked, and carefully scribed "Diego A" at the bottom of the page. He paused for a moment, gazing at the shaky, childish letters. He'd spent such a long time perfecting his signature – flourishes on the capital letters, the D, A and d all the same height, an elaborate loop on the g, and all of it slanted _just so_. He smirked ruefully, and pushed the paper and pen back across the table.

Justice gave the document a quick once-over before carefully placing it in his briefcase with the rest of his files. "Thank you, Mr. Armando." He stood up and almost offered Diego his hand again, then remembered and deflected the gesture to brushing imaginary crumbs off his trouser leg. "I should have this wrapped up before Christmas."

Diego nodded. He and Machi remained sitting this time, waiting until Justice was out of the room and the screws came to escort them back to the cells.

Diego smirked to himself as they were led back to the wing. So _that _was Apollo Justice, the successor to the legendary Phoenix Wright. Someone needed to introduce the kid to sleeve garters. And colour. Diego felt a slight twinge of sadness – it was too bad he'd never get to see the kid in action. It would be nice to know for sure that someone was carrying on Mia's legacy.

_xxx_

Shortly before Christmas, Diego got another letter, and Machi got another care package.

"I get card!" Machi exclaimed from the top bunk. Diego smiled. His own letter lay unopened on his chest. Machi's excitement and delight at every little thing he got from home always cheered Diego up, and he didn't want any distractions.

"Look." Machi hopped off the bunk and handed an enormous card to Diego. On the front was a photo-print of two men and two women, obviously taken professionally in a studio. Diego picked out Trite immediately, dressed in a slightly better quality navy suit, gazing at the camera with a lazy, heavy-lidded smile.

"This my mother, Lamiroir," Machi explained, pointing out the older woman, "my sister, Trucy," he pointed to the younger woman, "Mr. Wright, and…" Machi flashed Diego a sheepish smile. "…my brother, Apollo."

Diego glanced at Machi, then looked back at the card. He could pick out the family resemblance between Justice and the two women. Trite stuck out like a sore thumb, yet at the same time he belonged; just like Machi would, when he went home to them. Diego quashed the little flash of jealousy he felt. It wasn't Machi's fault that he'd managed to burn all his bridges. He smiled at the boy and handed the card back.

He only had one picture of Mia. It was in his wallet, currently locked in storage with his cellphone, Medic Alert tag and the clothes he'd worn to his trial. It was originally a photograph of the two of them, and he'd torn his half out. Because Diego Armando was dead, and there was only Godot left. Back then he thought he'd hit bottom, never realising he didn't know what "bottom" was.

Machi came back over to his bunk and handed him a piece of shortcake. Diego smiled his thanks and set the confection on his stomach while he opened his letter. Machi's mother always sent him sweets. Diego was sure the guards ate half of them. He took a careful bite and began to read.

The top brass had played ball and settled – as he'd expected they would. What he hadn't expected was the figure. It was far higher than anything he'd dared to hope for, and Apollo Justice hadn't taken a single cent for his time. A favour for his little brother.

The letter confirmed that Justice had split the settlement just as Diego wanted – half to Maya, half to Pearl. He hoped they accepted it. Something positive had to come out of all the misery he'd caused.

Diego closed his eyes, resting the letter against his chest. It was the best Christmas present he'd received in years.


	18. Seasons Change

New Years' Day came and went. It was nothing special in prison - the only years that counted were the ones measured from your incarceration date. For Diego, the beginning of January brought other things to worry about. Tigre always got moody around this time of year, and usually he looked to take it out on Diego. Their annual throwdown was almost a tradition, but this year Diego was in no condition to hold his own. When the Tiger stalked towards him in the exercise yard on January 9th, Diego fully expected to take a beating.

Tigre stopped in front of him, glowering. Diego heard Machi and his friends stop fooling around and walk towards them. He held his hand out behind him, gesturing for them to keep back. _It's nothing to do with you, kid. This is between him and me._

Machi's friends stopped, but Machi chose to ignore the signal. Diego felt a bizarre mix of anger and gratitude as the boy drew up alongside him. He expected Tigre to snap at Machi, something like _this don't consoin you, punk._ Instead, Tigre glanced at him briefly, and turned his attention back to Diego.

They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like forever. Finally Tigre turned his head away and spat a gob of phlegm into the slush around their feet.

"Aaah, youse ain't woith it."

Machi's three friends bounded up as Tigre started to walk away.

"Yeah? Yeah, you better run!" Oscar hollered. Tigre didn't even look around. "Don't mess with Downtown!"

As Oscar and Tyler scooped up the dregs of the winter snow and hurled it after the gangster (although curiously, every slushball fell short of hitting him), Machi looked at Diego.

"What _that_ about?"

Diego smirked at him briefly and shook his head. What he'd seen in Tigre's face just before he turned away couldn't be explained in simple gestures. In that split second the glower had given way to – tiredness. Tigre was coming up on fifty-five, heading into year thirteen of a life sentence. The sharp young prosecutor who'd brought him to the courtroom on that fateful day when he'd incriminated himself was now a stroke-blasted cripple. It was dawning on him that he would get old and die in this place. He would throw his weight around a couple more times, Diego was sure, but they were the spasms of a dying man.

_Doesn't matter, kid. Tiger's lost his roar._

_xxx_

Diego found himself thinking about that case – his second as a prosecutor – later that day, after lights out. The one thing about it that still stood out was the coffee stain on the tablecloth where poor Glen Elg had screamed and gasped his last. It was the only thing he saw when he first examined the crime scene. Everything else had disappeared in the blackness creeping into the edge of his vision.

"_Sir? Sir, you okay, pal?"_

Diego smirked to himself. He wondered what had become of Detective Gumshoe, and if he'd ever got up the courage to ask that girl out. The way Gumshoe rambled on about "Mr. Edgeworth", Diego was surprised that he was interested in women at all.

Diego shifted under the covers and tucked one arm under the pillow. Gumshoe had been the closest thing he'd had to a friend during his time at the Prosecutors' Office. He wasn't the strongest blend in the cupboard, and he could talk nonsense for a living, but Diego had never had the heart to dock his pay the way other prosecutors did. Von Karma had had a stranglehold on the Criminal Affairs Department when Gumshoe became a detective, and Diego was pretty sure he'd encouraged the promotion of a malleable, less-than-competent police officer who would do as he was told.

Diego rolled onto his side, banishing thoughts of the past. There was another, more cheerful anniversary coming up, and he wanted to prepare.

_xxx_

At last the day came, marked with sticky-tack on Machi's new calendar. Diego woke up to the grey dawn light and Machi's light snores coming from the top bunk. He crept out of bed and slithered under the bunks.

Machi's mom had sent him cupcakes a few days earlier, and Diego had saved one, wrapped tightly in a napkin and stowed under his bed. Diego retrieved the carefully wrapped parcel and slowly removed the napkin. He pressed gently on the cupcake with his fingers. It was a little hard in places, but still edible. Diego stood up and drew a match he'd bummed from Tyrell Badd from his pocket. He shook Machi awake.

"Hmm…?" The boy sat up in his bunk, rubbing at his eyes. "Diego?"

Diego struck the match and quickly pushed it into the cupcake.

A smile spread across Machi's face. "Is birthday cake!"

Diego nodded, eyeing the match anxiously. _Hurry up and make a wish, kid, before the whole thing catches fire._

Machi leaned forward and blew out the match, then took the cake and split it, giving Diego half. Diego smiled. He held up three fingers, then lowered one.

Machi smiled back. "Yeah."

At breakfast, Machi's friends didn't mention his birthday once. Diego decided that he hadn't told them about it. It made him feel special.

_xxx_

The more Diego saw of Machi's friends, the less he liked them. And as winter gave way to spring, his dislike turned to unease.

At first, he tried to write it off as jealousy, coupled with the fear that he would eventually be dropped in favour of Machi's younger, stronger allies. The three of them followed Machi everywhere, with Tyler in particular hanging on every word and every gesture, despite the occasional backhander when he wouldn't shut his big mouth. And there was a cocky little swagger to Machi's walk when they were around, one that had never been there when it was just the two of them. But that wasn't it. Machi never denied him, and he always made his three friends show Diego respect.

It was _them_, Diego decided. He never bothered to interact with them – none of them had the patience to try and interpret his body language, like Machi did – and that left him plenty of time to watch and listen.

"Hey! HEY! Scarface!"

Diego had initially written Oscar off as just a hothead, but that wasn't the whole story. Oscar didn't just overreact whenever somebody pissed him off; he went looking for trouble. Like now. Engarde hadn't done anything, apart from dare to walk past them too closely or without the proper respect or whatever bug had crawled up Oscar's ass.

"HEY! Talking to you!"

A dozen years of snorting and huffing anything he could get his hands on had left Engarde more brain-damaged than Diego, but he had enough sense to keep walking.

Diego had guessed that Oscar, Tyler and Charlie were friends on the outside, and the way they caught up with and surrounded Engarde confirmed his suspicions. All three moved together, Oscar and Tyler getting in front of him, big Charlie cutting off any escape to the rear. Practiced. Experienced. Machi strolled after them, his expression unreadable.

Engarde held still, hemmed in by the three of them. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a few seconds before managing, "You wanna let me through?"

"Whoa, whoa, what's the rush?" Oscar teased. "We're like, your biggest fans."

Engarde's face lit up at the thought of being recognised – it was cruel how much fame and celebrity still meant to him, even in this place. "Yeah?"

"Sure!" Oscar continued. "We all loved The Jammin' Ninja growing up!"

Engarde's face contorted into a snarl and he leaped for Oscar, but Charlie had him by the shoulders.

"DON'T YOU CALL ME THAT!" Engarde bawled. Oscar and Tyler moved two steps back, laughing as he struggled in Charlie's grip. "Juan Corrida was a fucking HACK!"

Charlie applied a touch more pressure and Engarde sank to his knees, hissing in pain. Machi had watched from outside the circle up to that point. Now he moved forward, leaning on his knees so he could look Engarde in the eye.

"Give your smokes."

Engarde curled his lip into a sneer. "Go fuck yourself, Wingdings."

No-one moved for a few seconds, then Oscar smashed his fist into Engarde's ribs.

"He said give us your smokes!" he barked.

Before Engarde could do anything, Charlie hauled him to his feet and Oscar hit him again.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck him up Oscar!" Tyler chanted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Every dog pack had a yappy little mutt who was all bark, and that was Tyler. He danced from side to side, egging Oscar on but not throwing any punches himself. Machi stood and watched until Engarde was hunched over in Charlie's grip, coughing pathetically.

"Enough."

Oscar let up and looked at Machi. Machi pushed him aside and patted Engarde down. He drew four cigarettes from Engarde's pocket. Charlie let go of Engarde, shoving him forward so that he fell on his knees. Machi walked back to Diego, his three friends in his wake. Diego didn't react as Machi passed Oscar, Tyler and Charlie a cigarette each.

"Yo man, what's the deal with these?" Charlie asked Machi quietly. "I don't smoke."

Machi shot him a look of contempt. "Can swap for other things," he explained, stashing his own cigarette in his pocket.

Diego lifted an eyebrow. It had never made sense that Oscar, Tyler and Charlie were so willing to follow Machi around, especially since Oscar was such a hothead and the natural leader of the three of them. Was it possible they'd never been in prison, or even juvenile hall, before?

He thought about it as he lay in bed, staring sightlessly at the underside of Machi's mattress. His instincts told him that Charlie, at least, had never been in a correctional institution before. Not only that, but he'd had no other friends or family in one, nobody to brief him about basic things like using cigarettes as currency before he went inside. And yet he was used to acting as Oscar's muscle when they roughed people up.

Could it be that the three of them, despite being thugs and behaving like juvenile delinquents, had never been convicted of any crime, or at least never had to serve a custodial sentence? Robert Hammond, master of settlements and plea bargains, had had a handful of wealthy clients who called him whenever their little darlings got caught breaking the law. His strategy was always the same – plead guilty to a lesser charge and pay compensation or do community service; flip on the adult or kid from the bad part of town, if one was involved, and have the sentence commuted to time served.

"_The Prosecutors' Office have the system by the balls, Armando,"_ he'd explained defensively, when Diego sneered at him over his coffee mug for being such a coward. _"I'm not gonna let some kid spend two years in jail and get ruined when he can do two hundred hours of community service and have his record sealed when he turns eighteen."_

Diego could understand now, especially after meeting Machi, where Hammond was coming from. And he was sure some of those kids understood they'd had a lucky escape and decided to straighten up and fly right. But Machi's friends weren't those kids. They were the ones who learned that they could do what they wanted and only suffer a minor inconvenience. Now they were walking around with no clue about the real, savage nature of the environment they were in, throwing their weight around and treating Machi like a god.

And the worst part was that Machi basked in their adoration. It was good for a man to strut, but not for the wrong people. More and more, Diego felt like a man whose straight-A student son had fallen in with a bad crowd.


	19. Muscle

The days grew longer and warmer, spring slowly melting into the hot Japanifornia summer. Machi started pumping iron in the prison exercise yard, with big, dark Charlie spotting him while Tyler and Oscar did the same on another bench-press. Diego missed their walks around the yard. He sat on a bench and tried to do curls with his good arm.

"Hey, Machi." Tyler jerked a thumb back at Diego as they headed for the gym area. "Can he even understand us or does he just like, speak Mexican or something?"

Diego reached forward and angrily swatted Tyler on the back of his sunburned neck, causing a yowl of pain.

"Puh…_punk!_"

Diego cursed silently as Machi and Oscar cracked up. He'd wanted to say _redneck_. Bad enough that the little brat – all three of them, in fact – often talked _about_ him as if he wasn't there, he couldn't even insult them properly. Machi caught his eye, his smile fading to a look of concern. Diego knew that if he pointed to Tyler's neck, Machi would probably understand and interpret, but he didn't feel like it now. He shook his head slightly and looked away.

"Hey." Oscar slowed as they approached the gym area, and Machi did likewise. Diego looked up and saw Tyrell Badd astride one of the bench presses, doing curls. "That guy's in our spot."

Machi's expression darkened. "He five-oh."

Oscar, Tyler and Charlie moved forward in unison, with Machi following a few paces behind. Diego shuffled to the entrance of the gym area and stopped.

"Hey, Five-Oh!" Oscar barked. Badd looked up as Oscar, Tyler and Charlie surrounded him. "Move your ass, old man."

Badd smirked and set his dumbbell aside, looking up at them. "Please tell me this is happening."

"All I heard was oink oink oink!" Oscar spat. "This is our spot. Move your ass before I turn it into bacon."

Diego grit his teeth. Picking on Engarde was one thing – the man was a cowardly killer who hadn't even had the decency to do his own dirty work. Badd had bent the law in pursuit of the greater good, and he sure as hell hadn't murdered anyone.

Badd stood up. Despite his age, he was intimidatingly large. Oscar actually stepped back. Tyler went further, dancing a few paces to the rear. Charlie hesitated before moving up closer to Oscar.

"Two on one." Badd nodded, and Diego couldn't help smirking at the fact that he knew right away Tyler didn't have the balls to fight him, even with his friends on his side. "Seems fair." The ex-detective cracked his neck from one side to the other. "You getting in on this, Tobaye?"

Machi folded his arms. "I think they can take you."

Sour disgust inched its way up Diego's throat as, emboldened by Machi's statement, Oscar and Charlie closed in on Badd. They were really going to beat up a seventy-something year old man, and for what? The other prisoners weren't watching. There were three other bench presses free. It was purely to make their dicks feel bigger. Diego turned and began to shuffle away from the gym area. He couldn't stop what was about to happen, but he sure as hell didn't have to stick around and witness it.

"I think your daddy's sore at you."

Diego heard the rapid crunch of dirt behind him, and then Machi caught him up.

"Diego, wait!"

Machi took hold of his good arm, and Diego allowed the boy to turn him around to face him.

"Diego…" Machi glanced at the gym area, and Diego followed his gaze. Oscar, Tyler and Charlie were watching both of them, the attack on Badd postponed. He looked back at Diego, and had the grace to wilt at Diego's scowl. "Okay. I know – maybe – this not right, but…" He took hold of Diego's shoulders and leaned in slightly, an earnest look on his face. "We have muscle now. Nobody mess with us ever again."

Diego jerked out of his grasp and glared at him. _We don't need that kind of muscle, kid. And you don't need those kinds of friends. They're stupid and reckless and they're gonna get you killed, and I won't pretend I'm okay with this._

He turned on his heel and hobbled away, ignoring Machi's pleading cry of "Diego!"

He made sure to avoid the gym area for the rest of the exercise period.

_xxx_

Machi was sullen and withdrawn when they met in the mess hall at dinner. His three friends were unusually quiet. Diego wondered if, despite his age, Badd had wiped the floor with them after all.

"Can't believe you wouldn't let us ice that cop," Oscar muttered.

"Shut up," Machi growled, eyes trained on his fish sticks.

Diego concentrated on his own meal, careful not to let his relief show. He was pleased that he still had some influence over Machi. He just wished it was strong enough to make him ditch his troublemaking pack.

_xxx_

"_Tom, I'm standing here outside Courtroom Number Three. Behind these doors, what some are calling the Trial of the Century is about to begin."_

The denizens of the rec room sat in rapt attention, gazing at the television set. Court proceedings always attracted interest – everybody curious to see what species of fresh fish was going to wind up on the block. Kiddy-fuckers were a big favourite. Serial killers were best avoided. Some cons looked out for familiar faces, some were on the alert for mobsters and gang members. Diego lounged on the couch and sipped his coffee while the reporter continued. Machi was next to him, with Charlie and Oscar crammed onto the last seat, while Tyler sat on the armrest. There was nowhere to sit when they'd first entered the room, and the trio had promptly hunted some other prisoners off the couch. At least they had some uses.

"…_earlier this month, LAPD and Interpol co-ordinated what some are calling the Bust of the Century. Using intelligence provided by a secret witness the prosecution are referring to only as 'Penry Gill', police and prosecutors broke up an extensive drug trafficking ring alleged to be run by the Rivales crime family. Two of the city's most notorious gangs, the Factory Row Stingers and the Third Street Doves, are alleged to have acted as couriers and pushers. It is also alleged by Interpol that the Zheng Fa Triads supplied the drugs. Security is extremely tight here as each of the criminal organisations involved is accusing the others of having secret witness Penry Gill as a member. Mr. Gill's true identity remains a mystery and it is believed he will give his evidence via videolink from a secure location, where he remains under heavy guard."_

Diego frowned. The last thing any of them needed was a bunch of gangsters filling up the prison, all itching to tear each other apart for squealing. The reporter handed the broadcast back to the studio, and the anchorman continued with the story.

"_World-renowned prosecutor Miles Edgeworth will lead the case, and spoke briefly at this morning's press conference."_

The broadcast switched to video, Edgeworth giving a statement about truth and justice being the antidote to the poison of organised crime. Diego snorted into his coffee. World-renowned prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had gotten _fat_. He spotted von Karma hovering nearby, twisting her whip in her hands, looking pissed as hell that she wasn't the one in the limelight. She still looked like a spoiled brat, even though she had to be nearly thirty by now.

Same age as Maya.

He wondered if Maya still looked that young.

The newscast moved on to lighter news, and Diego shook his head slightly, trying to banish the bad thoughts. Oscar was saying something, his tone slightly snappish. Diego sat up and paid attention.

"…nothing," Charlie mumbled, clearly in response to whatever Oscar had said. "I just…I wonder if they're the guys who sold Rocco the stuff, that's all."

"Fuck Rocco," Oscar spat.

Charlie's head snapped up, his face a mask of anger. Tyler squirmed on the arm of the couch, looking like he was watching Mommy and Daddy fighting. Diego shifted forward to the edge of the couch, ready to get out of the way if a fight broke out. This was interesting. Tyler and Charlie never challenged Oscar. This 'Rocco' character was clearly a sore spot with them.

Oscar and Charlie stared at each other for a few seconds. Charlie – a head taller and much better built than Oscar – broke first, and looked away.

"Yo man, don't talk about Rocco like that," Charlie murmured.

"I'll talk about him any way I want," Oscar snarled. "If he hadn't got fucked up off that shit we wouldn't be here." Charlie flinched, but didn't challenge him again. "I'll say it again – _fuck_ Rocco."

"Yeah, fuck Rocco," Tyler added, relieved now that the status quo was restored. Diego sank back against the couch cushions. He felt disappointed that Charlie hadn't stood his ground. He'd begun to warm to the kid. He seemed more nervous than Oscar or Tyler – the gravity of where he was and what that meant for his life was starting to sink in. Diego had a feeling Momma and Poppa Charlie were crying for him on the outside, cursing the day their easily-led son had fallen in with the neighbourhood thugs.

"I here because of someone else too."

Machi's words filled Diego with a sick feeling of dread. Slowly he turned to look at him, already knowing what he would see, praying he was wrong. Machi was staring across the room, at where Daryan Crescend was sitting by the pool table. Oscar, Tyler and Charlie were staring too.

Diego took a deep breath, trying to banish the tightness in his chest.

_Shit._


	20. Boiling Point

The Trial of the Century continued for several weeks. Diego caught most of the proceedings on TV, and was relieved when he didn't see Trite or Justice acting for the defence. The street gangs were the small fry in the operation, and most were caught dead to rights – not that it stopped any of them pleading Not Guilty. The Rivales family had better lawyers, and their trials took longer. As the summer wore on and the guilty parties were sentenced, more and more new faces began to appear on the block.

The Stingers and Doves had happily worked together to peddle drugs, but by the time they started to trickle into the prison their alliance was well and truly shattered. They took over tables in the mess hall and congregated in groups in the exercise yard, all of them covered in tattoos of stylised wasps and birds, each group staring daggers at each other. They were all too busy accusing each other of treachery to pick on any of the other prisoners, but that didn't make Diego feel any less uneasy.

He was struggling to do curls in the gym area, while Machi and his friends lifted weights, when the muted sounds of the exercise yard were interrupted by the noise of a scuffle.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!"

Machi, Tyler, Oscar and Charlie abandoned their weights and walked out of the gym area. Diego set his dumbbell aside and shuffled after them. He butted Tyler aside with his good shoulder and moved in between him and Machi. A few yards away, a skinhead with a bird tattoo was picking himself up off the ground, while some punks with wasp tattoos stood over him.

"You shouldn'ta got so close," one of the wasp punks spat. "Yellow and black means 'stay back'."

Some of the skinhead's friends were moving up alongside him.

"You wanna go?" The skinhead slapped his own scalp a couple of times and aimed a headbutt at one of the wasp punks. "Huh?!"

"You got the balls to start something?" the punk sneered.

"All right, break it up." A couple of screws walked between the groups, nightsticks at the ready. "Move along."

One of the skinhead's friends couldn't resist getting the last word in. "Doves don't start wars. We finish 'em. Don't forget!"

Diego watched as the punks and skinheads got moving. The screws stuck around, making sure both groups were walking away from each other. He shook his head slightly. Fight Night was postponed, not cancelled. Both sides were spoiling for a rumble, and the screws couldn't be everywhere at once.

"Yeah, man," Tyler murmured gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Gang war! We shoulda done that, man, got a crew together, roll up on _everybody,_ man, own the streets!"

Machi snorted.

"They own streets," he sneered, jerking his head at Oscar and Charlie. "You hide in bed and wet pants." Tyler stared at him, mouth open in devastation while Oscar sniggered. Machi turned away and began to walk back to the gym area. "It not our business."

Machi's words didn't make Diego feel any better.

The atmosphere continued to simmer as June stretched into July. Some of the Rivales' men showed up on the block – lower level goons caught red-handed, all pleading "what are drugs?" or "yes Your Honour, I did it, I did it all by myself". They'd helped the big fish escape the police and prosecutors' net and knew that their silence would be rewarded. They kept their distance from the Stingers and Doves. They were well-groomed and clean-shaven, and strutted around like their prison stripes were Armani suits. Diego didn't like it.

He also didn't like the way Machi kept looking at Crescend. Or how Crescend seemed to be alone more and more.

Something was going to happen. And Diego couldn't do anything except shuffle after Machi and his friends in the hope that he'd be on the spot when it did. If only he could grab Machi, and maybe Charlie too, by the shoulders and tell them he knew what they were thinking and that it wasn't worth it. If only he had strength. If only he had a _voice_.

_xxx_

They awoke one morning to a grey sky and light, persistent rain pattering on the roof.

"Hey, did you guys hear the thunder last night?" Charlie asked over breakfast.

"Yeah," Oscar replied through a mouthful of toast. "Right before I heard Tyler pissing himself."

Machi sniggered.

"Hey, shut up!" Tyler exclaimed, a hurt look on his face.

Oscar flashed a nasty smirk and set his unfinished slice of toast down on his plate.

"You gonna make me, chickenshit?"

Tyler fumed silently, but looked down at his cornflakes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Oscar sneered. He picked up his toast and tore off a mouthful, chewing loudly. Tyler spent the rest of the meal sulking into his food.

Diego noted the exchange with interest. First Oscar had clashed with Charlie over their fourth friend and whatever had happened to him; now he was humiliating Tyler in front of the others. Perhaps their alliance would fall apart. Perhaps Machi would think twice about whatever he was planning if he had less muscle to back him.

It was too wet for the screws to send them outside – the exercise yard was a sea of red mud. Diego found himself in the rec room, trying to watch TV with the old-timers while two of Rivales' men played pool and half a dozen Doves and Stingers glowered at each other from either side of the room. He didn't know where Machi was. There was a matinee in the mess hall; maybe there. Maybe in the music room…although he hadn't heard Machi mention the music room since November. Diego wondered if Machi had lost his privileges as punishment for sneaking into the infirmary to see him, or if he just didn't want to talk about music in front of his friends in case they thought he was soft. Either way, it wasn't good –

The TV abruptly shut off. At the same time, the lights went out. Diego just had time to register both those facts before the room erupted in violence. There was a loud _thwack_ and a scream as the Doves and Stingers surged together like someone had shouted "GO". A pool ball whizzed by Diego's head close enough for him to feel the breeze. He threw himself on the floor in front of the couch and covered the back of his neck with his hands. After a few seconds he dared to crawl to the edge of the couch and peer around it. One of the screws who'd been supervising them was on the ground. His buddy was pulling him out into the corridor. The two Rivales goons were standing by the wall, faint smirks on their faces. Damon Gant was taking cover under the pool table, the picture of a frightened old man. Diego suddenly felt sorry for him. He was eighty years old, he didn't need to be in the middle of this.

Diego looked towards the door again, but no guards appeared. He suddenly realised why. There were a lot more inmates in the mess hall, a lot more gang members taking advantage of the power cut to beat each other to a pulp. He tried not to think about Machi being in there too. If he was, there was nothing Diego could do about it.

Somebody fell over the couch and crashed into the TV. That did it. He wasn't staying there. Diego scuttled for the exit on all fours as fast as he could manage.

He pulled himself up on his feet using the door frame as soon as he got out of the rec room. The corridor was shrouded in darkness apart from the emergency glow-in-the-dark floor lighting. Damn it, why wasn't the backup generator kicking in?

Suddenly Diego heard the sound of running feet. He allowed himself to relax a little. Help was on the way and the screws would soon have everything under control –

Daryan Crescend ran past him. He glanced over his shoulder. The expression on his face was that of a hunted animal.

Tyler, Oscar and Charlie rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, with Machi bringing up the rear.

Tyler had something in his hand.

Diego tensed himself, waiting till the last possible second, and launched himself at Machi.

They hit the wall and fell to the floor, Diego landing on top. He leaned as much of his weight on Machi as he could, wrapping his good arm around him.

"Let me go!" Machi snarled, struggling in Diego's grasp. Diego jerked his bad knee and Machi hissed in pain. It distracted him enough for Diego to shift his bad arm and lay it across Machi's throat.

"I have to do this!" Machi croaked out. Diego shook his head. _I won't let you, kid, not while you have a family and a blue sky waiting for you._ Machi arched up suddenly and began to roll over. Diego slid off him to the side. Machi stayed on his stomach, coughing. Diego slithered up on his back, grabbed a handful of blond hair, and slammed Machi's face into the floor. He slid his bad arm around Machi's neck, grasped his bad wrist with his good hand, and pulled as tightly as he could. It wasn't tight enough and Machi bucked and struggled ferociously. Diego wrapped his good leg around him to try and keep control. _I won't let you, I'll kill you myself before I let you go down there -_

Machi twisted in his grasp, got a hand free, and tore Diego's visor off. Diego fought to control the panic welling up inside him. He would never be able to hold Machi. He was lucky to get this far – Machi hadn't hit him yet, and his three friends had continued after Crescend without a backward glance. He buried his face against Machi's body and did his best to hold on. He had to try. If his worthless, wasted life was to mean anything, he had to try.

"Get off me…get off…" Machi began to punch at Diego's shoulders. "…stupid…old…man…get off!"

Something long and heavy smacked Diego across the back. He fought to hold on as he was hauled away from Machi, but a second later his arms were yanked behind his back and he felt cold steel snap around his wrists. Someone clumsily reattached his visor to his face. It activated just in time for him to see a second screw handcuffing Machi, and Machi's white-splattered face contorted in an angry snarl.

"_I hate you."_


	21. Fallout

They took Diego back to his cell, along with the other old timers and cons too timid or too smart to take part in the ongoing fracas and who would stay put in their cells even if the electronic locks weren't working. Diego sat on his bunk, ignoring the throb of his bruised shoulders, and stared at the calendar on the wall.

_I hate you._

The generators kicked back in after a few hours. The dull roar of violence echoing up through the block began to die away. Slowly the screws began to return more prisoners to their cells. Machi wasn't one of them. They'd probably taken him to the infirmary to clean him up.

The block was put on lockdown. The screws brought them dinner in their cells. Diego didn't want any.

Lights out. Still no sign of Machi. Diego lay facing the wall, one hand tucked under his pillow.

_I hate you._

_xxx_

The block was still locked down the next morning. Breakfast in bed. Gossip about what had happened began to filter through, all half-truths and broken telephones. Rivales' men set it up. Gant set it up. The Doves. The Stingers. The mess hall was a crime scene. The mess hall looked like an abattoir. The screws vamoosed when the power went out and locked the doors behind them and let the gangbangers kill each other – it was all the warden's idea. Diego rolled his eyes at all of it.

Crescend was in the hospital.

Diego shuffled over to the bars, wrapping his good hand around the cold steel, and paid attention.

Crescend was in the infirmary. No, they took him to County. Those punks did it. Tobaye's gang. No. Yes. Made a real mess of him. Well who didn't see that coming, right? Only a matter of time. Diego let go of the bars and walked back over to the bunks. He stared at the calendar. _Scenes from Borginia._ He sank to the floor and ran a hand through his hair.

_I hate you._

It didn't matter. It didn't matter if Machi never spoke to him again or requested a new cellmate or even beat him up. He'd kept the kid away from whatever his stupid, stupid friends had done. Kept him from being convicted of assault and spending another seven, eight, ten years in this concrete hell. His mother would still be able to look at him and see her blue-eyed little boy instead of a thug. Crescend would want revenge though, and it probably wouldn't matter to him that Machi hadn't been physically involved. Diego would have to do what he could to protect him. Somehow.

It didn't matter that he'd lost his only friend.

_I hate you._

He'd been selfish with Maya, and he'd lost everything. He'd been selfless with Machi, and he'd lost everything. Diego snorted, the good side of his face twitching into a bitter smirk. Robert Hammond was right, the system was rigged.

The day dragged. No work detail, no exercise yard. More gossip. The place was crawling with cops. Some electronics genius nobody'd ever heard of was the one who shorted out the generators. A bunch of the gang members were in County too. Some of the leaders were dead, taken out by the Rivales goons. It was all a hit ordered by the Zheng Fa Triads. There were a bunch of new screws, hadn't anyone noticed? All working for the Triads. It was an inside job all along. The changing stories gave Diego a headache. He crawled into bed and tried to sleep.

_I hate you._

_xxx_

Things were back to normal the next day. The mess hall was all cleaned up. No sign of any alleged bloodbath. Diego scanned the room as he waited in line for breakfast. Machi wasn't there. Neither were his friends, but Diego expected that. If they'd been caught assaulting Crescend, then they were probably in solitary. Machi, though… Diego swallowed. Had he managed to hurt him more seriously than just a few scrapes on his face?

He made himself eat breakfast. He wasn't supposed to take his meds on an empty stomach.

Whatever had happened during the short-lived riot seemed to have broken the tension that had been building all summer. In the exercise yard, the Doves and Stingers that weren't laid up in the infirmary or down in solitary seemed deflated, each group avoiding the other. Diego plodded along, glancing at the other prisoners to see who had escaped unscathed and who was walking wounded. Gavin caught his eye, a beautiful mosaic of green and purple bruising across one cheek. Diego frowned as he suddenly realised Gavin was walking towards him, a nasty little smile on his face.

Abruptly someone laid a big, beefy arm across Diego's shoulders and turned him around. Diego whipped his head around to see who was manhandling him, automatically trying to squirm away.

"Easy," Tyrell Badd murmured. "Just walk with me a minute."

Diego relaxed a little. Badd had never run with a gang or lured other prisoners into ambushes, and they'd never had a problem with each other. Badd loosened his hold on Diego, but left his arm on his shoulders. He glanced back, and lowered his voice.

"Something you should know," he said. "Don't think you should hear it from Gavin."

Diego looked at him. It was about Machi, it had to be. He tried to prepare himself, a million worst case scenarios rushing through his head at once.

Badd wet his lips.

"Daryan Crescend died last night."

The bottom dropped out of Diego's stomach. His veins turned to ice.

Badd glanced away for a few seconds, then gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

"Your boy's in a lot of trouble."

He hesitated for a minute, like he wanted to say something else. After an awkward silence, Badd let go of Diego and walked away without another word.

_xxx_

Diego sat on his bunk and stared at the calendar. Murder. Conspiracy. Accessory. _Your Honour, the prosecution will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that this angelic, blue-eyed boy was in fact the mastermind behind the brutal assault that tragically ended the life of Daryan Crescend._ He squeezed his pillow between his fingers, then threw it aside and ran his hand through his hair. He hadn't done a damn thing to save Machi. He should've got him away from those violent, reckless morons in the very beginning. He had known all along that they were no good. Diego thudded the back of his head against the wall. _Why, kid? You could read me right from the beginning. Why didn't you listen?_

He slumped against the wall and angrily swiped his hand across his perpetually tear-stained cheek.

_How the hell am I supposed to protect you now?_


	22. Trial

Diego didn't see Machi at all over the next few days. He and his friends had probably been taken to the Detention Centre to await trial. He wondered what charges Machi was facing. He wondered how the boy was holding up. Was he in denial? Was he upset? Was he telling himself it wasn't really his fault?

…Was he happy?

"Why the long face, Armando?"

Diego looked up from his mashed potatoes long enough to glare at Gavin, then went back to poking listlessly at his food. He heard Gavin's chair creak as he leaned back, probably pushing up his glasses with that stupid little smile on his face.

"One would think you'd be over the moon. A life partner at last."

Diego looked up sharply, white mist clouding the edge of his vision. Gavin had _inot/i_ just made reference to Mia. Not if he knew what was good for him. Gavin quickly stood and snatched up his tray, relaxing once his food was out of spitting distance. He smirked down at Diego, victorious and far too pleased with himself.

"See you at dinner."

Diego glared after Gavin as he went to join Gant and White at their table. Those three had known that Crescend's days were numbered, and they'd fallen away from him one by one. Survival of the fittest. He wondered if Crescend had known his alliance was disintegrating; whether they'd kept up a pretence or simply turned their backs on him. Had he known when he ran – wherever he ran – that when they finally cornered him, he was going to die?

Was Machi torturing himself with these thoughts now, or was he shutting them out?

_xxx_

Crescend's murder was all over the news. Disgraced or not, he had still been a member of one of the most influential rock bands of the last decade, and he still had several fans. The media recapped his original crime, including Machi's involvement. Of course, that Machi had been involved in Crescend's death just added to the sensation. Some news outlets were already calling it a revenge killing. Fawkes' Conspiracies went further, interviewing various people who figured that Crescend had taken the fall for the smuggling operation for somebody higher up in the legal system, and that Machi had been deliberately placed in the same prison to wipe him out before he blabbed. Diego couldn't quite write the idea off as nonsense.

The media storm continued, every night after chow. Lucky for Diego, the other prisoners were as interested in it as he was. One evening Gavin unwisely switched the channel, intending to irritate Diego. Tigre had unceremoniously punched him and switched the channel back.

_"Former frontman of the Gavinners, Klavier Gavin, could not be reached for comment."_

The news channel showed footage of Gavin's baby brother disappearing into the Prosecutors' Office, waving away reporters with a thick file and a frozen smile on his face. Diego wondered why the younger Gavin still wore his hair in the same drill-bit style as his older brother. Maybe madness ran in the family.

_"Lawful Good, the band formed by the remaining members of the Gavinners, released this public statement earlier today…"_

The statement was just a flowery way of saying "We're sorry he's dead even though he involved us all in criminal activity and we cut him off like a rotting limb after he was convicted". Diego tuned it out. Klavier Gavin's unwillingness to talk to the press was more interesting. He had a vague memory of some of the other convicts taunting Crescend about an alleged relationship between him and his former bandmate. He'd written it off at the time as standard homophobic fare, and it probably was, but maybe they'd shared a deep friendship once – maybe even a one-sided crush. No-one would ever know now.

A collage of mugshots of Machi and his friends flashed up on the screen, and Diego paid attention as the reporter concluded the story. The trial – which would be televised, naturally – was set to commence on Diego's birthday. Diego barked out a bitter laugh. All he'd wanted for the past week was to see Machi again.

_Well, amigo, looks like you get your wish._

_xxx_

Machi and his friends were to be tried together, because the prosecution contended that they had acted as a pack. They were charged with murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Diego had hoped – foolishly – that Machi's lawyer (he assumed it was Apollo Justice, but he couldn't be sure) would come and talk to him before the trial. It never happened. A silent witness was worthless; an alibi trapped in someone's head was no alibi at all.

As the trial date grew closer and more details were leaked to the press, Diego's anxiety only grew. Winston Payne was prosecuting. Diego wanted to feel relieved at the news, but despite a number of well-publicised losses the much-derided Rookie Killer was far from incompetent. He'd had a long, successful career before Mia blew him away, and he'd racked up several wins on low-profile cases in between losing to Trite. Diego had a horrible feeling he was going to spend the next twenty years watching Machi getting old.

The day arrived. Diego tried to stay calm as he sank into the couch in the rec room, and switched to the news channel for the highlights of the trial. He held his breath, waiting for someone to object, but no-one did. He glanced up in surprise as Badd lowered himself onto the couch next to him. The ex-detective glanced at him in return, but said nothing.

Diego turned his attention back to the TV as the accused were led into the courtroom. Oscar and Tyler looked defiant. Charlie looked angry. And Machi…

…Machi looked devastated.

There were bags under his eyes, and his whole face had a gaunt, pallid look as if he hadn't eaten or slept since being taken into custody. His head was tilted towards the floor, but his gaze wasn't fixed on anything. His mouth moved silently as he was led into the dock with his co-defendants, and Diego knew he was reliving the whole horrible chain of events that had led to the death of another human being.

Winston Payne laid out the facts of the case for the judge. At such a time on such a date Daryan Crescend had been viciously assaulted in a prison bathroom by three of the defendants, one of whom stabbed him in the eye with a screwdriver stolen from the prison workshop. The screwdriver penetrated his brain, and it was this injury which ultimately caused his death. Although he was not present during the assault, the fourth defendant Machi Tobaye had identified Crescend to his attackers and was in fact the mastermind behind the attack, including the introduction of a weapon to finish Crescend off.

Justice objected loudly at this point, and was promptly smacked down by the judge. Diego shook his head slightly. _Careful, tomkitten. You'll never catch the mouse if you don't look before you leap._

Payne called the prison guards who'd found Charlie, Tyler and Oscar in the bathroom with Crescend to the stand. Their attorneys asked if the guards had actually seen the assault taking place. Justice asked if they'd seen Machi at the scene. The guards answered both questions in the negative. Next Payne called the detective assigned to the case, one Ema Skye. The name rang a bell with Diego, but he couldn't place it. She testified about the forensic evidence pointing to Charlie, Tyler and Oscar as Crescend's assailants, and fingerprints on the murder weapon indicating that either Tyler or Oscar had struck the fatal blow. There was nothing to tie Machi to the scene, but then Diego already knew that. It didn't matter. The boy was still in serious trouble. The prosecution didn't call any of the defendants to the stand, which meant that nobody had made a deal for a lighter sentence. But that didn't mean the attorneys for the other defendants wouldn't try to put the blame on Machi, or at least enough for the conspiracy charge to stick. Diego handed the remote off to Badd as the court reporter took over, wrapping up the day's events before handing the broadcast back to the studio. He couldn't bear to listen to the talking heads analysing every little detail. He could do that in his own bunk.

_xxx_

It was intensely frustrating that Diego couldn't be in the courtroom with Machi, just so the boy could see a friendly face when he looked up at the gallery. He couldn't even watch the trial live. There was nothing Diego could do but pray, fold clothes and hobble in circles until TV time rolled around and he could catch the highlights on the news.

Payne was through with Oscar, Tyler and Charlie – all the evidence put them at the scene, beating and kicking Crescend before one of them finished him off. All he had to do was tie Machi in as the ringleader, or at least as a co-conspirator. The other attorneys, Robert Hammond's successors to a man, could do nothing except push as much of the blame on Machi as they could. Over the next two days, they did exactly that. Machi had organised everything, identified Crescend to the others, told them he intended to kill him, and instructed them to bring a weapon.

Oscar told the story well, keeping everything nice and vague and pleading that he couldn't remember when pressed for details. Tyler slipped up and embellished the story – now Machi had given them the date of the blackout as the day they were going to kill Crescend. Justice pressed him, and Tyler ran his mouth a little more – it would be easier to take the screwdriver under cover of darkness. Were the four of them always together? Oh yes.

Then Justice pounced. Could the defendant identify any of these prisoners? No? But they were the gangsters who orchestrated the blackout. They were the only ones who knew when it was going to happen. My client must have spoken to them alone? You said the four of you were always together. By the time Justice was finished, Tyler had footprints all over his tongue. The following day Charlie panicked on the stand, admitting to kicking Crescend but pleading ignorance of everything else. Finally Justice called the prisoner who'd rigged the generators to go out. Diego knew the man vaguely – he was already serving life without parole for a string of grisly electricity-themed murders upstate. He had no reason to lie, and testified that he had never spoken with any of the defendants regarding the date of the blackout.

Justice didn't let Machi say one word throughout the trial. It was the right call. The boy's guilt was eating him alive; he might blurt out anything.

The day of the verdict, Diego flipped to the news channel and almost had a heart attack.

A huge caption, GUILTY, was superimposed over Oscar's, Tyler's and Charlie's mugshots.

It took Diego a moment to realise Machi's picture wasn't there. It took him another few seconds to hear the court reporter explaining that the trio were convicted of murder, but the conspiracy charge had failed to stick.

_"The fourth defendant, Machi Tobaye, was found not guilty on all charges."_

Diego sagged back against the couch cushions, the remote slipping out of his hand and onto the floor, and let out a shuddering sigh of relief. He didn't protest when a younger prisoner snatched the remote from the floor and changed the channel. He'd succeeded. Machi was going home in less than two years, a smuggler but not a killer. His mother would still be able to look at him. His future was still waiting for him.

For the first time since Machi's trial began, Diego slept through the night.


	23. Full Circle

Diego didn't expect Machi to be brought back to prison the day after the trial, or even a week after the trial. Even free men couldn't just walk out of the Detention Centre. There was paperwork to sort out, red tape to cut through. But when two weeks went by, Diego began to worry. He kept seeing Machi's expression whenever he closed his eyes – that haunted look of a boy eating himself from the inside. If he'd done something stupid – if he was never coming back – Diego might never know.

Two more weeks, Diego decided. Then he would grieve for him.

_xxx_

Three evenings later, Diego was lying on his bunk, staring blankly at the pages of _Don Quixote_, when he heard footsteps on the block. He sat up, frowning. Along with the heavy footfalls of the guards, there was the clink of chains and the shuffling steps of someone in leg irons.

Diego hauled himself off his bunk and went to the bars. He did his best not to get his hopes up – it could just as easily be fresh fish, or one of Machi's friends. They were all the way at the other end of the block, and he had to press his face against the bars to see, silently cursing his visor as it got in the way. He caught a glimpse of blond hair at the end of the block, and held his breath.

It took everything he had not to cry out when the guards got closer and he recognised Machi walking between them.

He forced himself to hobble back to the bunks and lie down again. He picked up the book and pretended to read as the cell bars were unlocked and the screws let Machi out of his shackles. Diego expected them to make some kind of crude sexual comment about Diego being happy to see Machi again. Instead they just prodded Machi inside the cell and locked the bars after him.

Diego waited until the guards walked away before he put his book down and looked at Machi. The boy looked like he hadn't eaten or slept since the trial. His face was pale and hollow, his chin was covered with straw-coloured stubble. He was staring out through the bars of the cell, both arms wrapped around his stomach.

Diego sat up. Machi glanced towards him on hearing the creak of the springs, but an instant later he looked away, a guilty, ashamed expression on his face. Diego paused. He had wanted to go and hug Machi, but maybe the boy didn't want that right now. That look – did he think Diego was mad at him? Diego relaxed his posture, shifting his gaze to a point on the wall near Machi's face. Not staring directly at him, but not avoiding him either.

Machi slumped back against the wall and slid down till he was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. He rested his arms on his legs and stared at a spot on the ground in front of him. Diego didn't move. The silence stretched, growing thick and heavy between them, and Diego hated it. But there was nothing he could do to break it.

"It not matter what the judge say."

Diego looked at Machi. Machi glanced up at him, then went back to looking at the floor.

"Or what Mr. Justice say." Machi pushed his fingers into his shaggy blond hair, resting his head against his hand. "I told them who he was. I said let's get him." He briefly buried his face in his arm before continuing. "But I never want that to happen. I never want him to die. I only want to hurt him. Teach him not to mess with us." Machi dropped his hands and looked up at Diego. "Maybe break fingers – so he can't play guitar for a while."

His face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands as he began to sob.

Diego slid off the bunk and shuffled over to him, grunting as he lowered himself onto the floor. He expected Machi to flinch when he put his arm around him. Instead Machi clung to him, resting his head against Diego's chest as he continued to cry. Diego held on, stroking his back in an effort to soothe him.

He didn't care who saw.

_xxx_

Diego blinked muzzily as the underside of the top bunk swam into focus. He closed his eyes briefly and cursed to himself. Machi couldn't cry forever, and eventually his sobs had petered out and he just held onto Diego, boneless and tired and so goddamn small. And while they were sitting there in silence and grief, Diego had _fallen asleep_. He took off his visor and rubbed his eyes. _Nice work, amigo. Real supportive, nodding off on the kid and making him put you to bed. _He huffed at himself and put the visor back on.

He could tell from the sag of the mattress that Machi was lying down. Maybe the boy was sleeping, physically and emotionally exhausted from his breakdown. Diego hoped so.

The months ahead weren't going to be easy for Machi. His former friends would probably want retribution, but Diego was more worried about what the boy would do to himself. Diego wished he could tell him that Crescend's death wasn't all his fault. Sure, it was his idea to take revenge, and it was his idea to choose that moment to do it. But each man made his own destiny. Machi didn't force Oscar, Tyler and Charlie to go along with his plan. He hadn't put the screwdriver in Tyler's hand. He hadn't even been in the room when they beat and kicked and stabbed Crescend to death. They chose to be there of their own free will.

Even if he could tell Machi all those things, Diego had a feeling it wouldn't do any good. Machi felt guilty, responsible…and he'd gotten off scot free. There was catharsis in serving a sentence. Diego could never take back every stupid, selfish decision that had put him on the mountain that fateful night. He could never give Maya back her mother, or give Pearl back her innocence. But knowing he would die in here for his crimes gave him some peace. Machi didn't have that. He would have to learn to live with his crime going unpunished.

Diego hoped the boy had the strength for it.

_xxx_

In the days that followed, Machi was quiet and withdrawn. He barely ate, and Diego knew he wasn't sleeping. He shied away whenever Diego reached out for him, even in their cell after lights out. Diego wanted to tear his hair out with frustration and worry. Machi was slipping away right in front of him, and he couldn't even tattle to the guards the way Machi had, way back when he'd uncovered Diego's plans to kill himself. There was nothing he could do except eat with him, walk the yard with him, and lie awake all night, rehearsing what to do if he heard Machi's weight shift and saw his body fall past the foot of the bunks.

It was August again. The month Diego had been poisoned; the month Crescend had jumped them both in the music room with his allies and delivered a savage beatdown. None of them had had any idea that Crescend would be dead in less than a year. Diego glanced at Machi's face as they patrolled the exercise yard. The boy was gazing at the dusty red sand of the yard, hands in his pockets. He barely looked at Diego lately, resisting all of Diego's attempts to communicate with him. Diego looked away. Just one sentence. Just four little words, ungarbled, in the right order. But the lines were down between his brain and his mouth, and the repair crews were on strike.

Diego's thoughts were interrupted by the crunch of sand under running feet. He looked around a second too late - Charlie had tackled Machi to the ground before he could even warn him. Charlie straddled Machi, raining blows on him while Machi tried to protect his head. Diego stumbled forward, trying to work out how to get Charlie off Machi as he went. Abruptly Machi flung his hand out in Diego's direction, palm vertical. Motioning him to stop.

"Run away, Diego, run away!"

Diego halted, staring at Machi, and shook his head. Charlie stopped punching, looked at Diego briefly, then turned his attention back to Machi. He raised his fist again, his whole body trembling.

And then, Diego saw him break.

"You ruined my fucking life!" Charlie roared. He fisted his other hand in Machi's shirt, lifting his head and shoulders a couple of inches off the ground. "My parents can't even look at me! You understand that?! I wish I'd never met you!"

He shoved Machi back down, hard, and got to his feet as the first wet tears started down his cheeks. Machi stayed where he was as Charlie stumbled away, dragging his arm across his eyes. Diego went to Machi's side and helped him to sit up. The boy's face was covered in little blue knuckle marks that would grow and turn purple over the next couple of days, but it didn't look like anything was broken. Diego gave Machi's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Machi looked up at him, and flashed him a brief smile.

In the mess hall that evening, Machi ate. And that night, he slept. And the next night, and the next.

Diego smiled in the dark.

Catharsis.

_xxx_

The summer slid away into fall, the evenings growing cooler and shorter. Machi stuck close to Diego when they walked the yard together. Sometimes their shoulders touched.

There were no more attacks on Machi in the yard. A week after Charlie beat him up, he showed up for lunch with fresh bruises, and Diego could only assume that Tyler or Oscar had had a turn at him. Probably Oscar. Tyler went around bragging about icing a cop, and by September he was sporting a shaved head and a Doves tattoo. They didn't take Oscar. Diego saw him desperately following some of the Stingers around the yard like a lost puppy. Ten days later he was with some of the Rivales goons, putting on his best tough guy act, oblivious to the smirks of the gangsters with their arms around his shoulders.

Charlie kept his distance from both of his former friends. He'd learned his lesson too late, and at a terrible price. Diego could relate. _Sorry, kid. I could only save one._

As the fall went on, Machi's clean-shaven jaw darkened with stubble. At first Diego thought he'd missed – or been denied – his usual shave with the barber, but after a few weeks it was obvious that he'd stopped shaving completely. By the first day of October, the boy had the makings of a respectable beard.

"I think winter is coming," Machi remarked, rubbing his hands together as they walked the yard.

Diego smirked. Unable to help himself, he reached out and brushed his thumb through the blond, coarse hairs along Machi's jawline.

Machi shot him a sheepish smile.

"In Borginia, old woman is considered wisest of all."

Diego snorted and butted him gently with his shoulder.


	24. Viva La Vida

The year was turning, the sharp bite of winter coming into the air. At the first sign of a cough, Diego was whisked into the infirmary for a full check-up and kept in for observation for a few nights. Diego couldn't help smirking at the good-looking doctor's concerned expression while she checked him out. They didn't care about his health, they just didn't want to pay out again.

On Diego's first day back in the mess hall, Gavin sauntered up to where he and Machi were seated.

"Just the two of you again? How cosy." Diego glanced up at him. Gavin remained standing, breakfast safely out of spitting distance. He smiled down at them. "You must be even closer now that you have something else in common."

Diego scowled. Machi didn't even look up from his cereal.

"What you here for?" he asked through a mouthful of cornflakes. "Wearing dress on Sunday?"

Diego snorted. Gavin's smile wavered slightly.

"Touché," he conceded, and continued to his own table.

Gavin's snide comment was the only retaliation by Crescend's erstwhile allies. Gant, Gavin and White had all seen the writing on the wall, long before Diego, and had backed off as soon as Machi had teamed up with his three friends. Gant and White were too old to take on four fit young men, and Gavin was far too self-serving to put himself on the line for a mere enemy of an enemy. Portsman was the only one of the group who seemed genuinely surprised and frightened by Crescend's murder. More highly strung and skittish than ever, he shadowed Gant closely in the yard and the mess hall. He could barely function on work detail, constantly looking over his shoulder. One day in November, Diego noticed he wasn't in the laundry room. After chow the word went around that Portsman had finally suffered the nervous breakdown that had been pending since his incarceration, and he'd gone to the nut hatch.

Diego shrugged at the news. He was more interested in finding out who they'd put with Yogi in the cell opposite him and Machi. The last thing he wanted was Oscar, Tyler or Charlie as a neighbour. He breathed a sigh of relief a week later when Tyrell Badd moved in.

Machi's beard thickened as the winter wore on. He was filling out too, changing from a boy to a man before Diego's eyes. He avoided the weights in the exercise yard, but did sit-ups and push-ups in their cell before breakfast and before lights out. His care packages began to include magazines printed in Borginian, all dog-eared from the screws flicking through them to make sure they didn't contain secret messages or pornography. From the covers, Diego guessed they had something to do with science or medicine.

Machi also began to have time in the music room again, and he brought Diego along as often as he could. Diego was glad. Playing the piano again would help Machi put the past behind him and focus on the future that was waiting for him. Plus, hearing the boy play made his own heart feel a little lighter.

One day, as Diego settled himself on the piano seat, Machi didn't join him right away. Diego watched as the boy hunted around among the other instruments, then walked back to him carrying a tambourine.

"Here." Diego shot him a questioning look as Machi handed him the tambourine. Machi sat down next to him and nodded at the instrument. "You play music before. Keep time."

Diego frowned slightly at the request. Machi was an accomplished musician. He didn't need someone keeping time for him. Maybe it was a way to justify Diego's presence in the music room with him. He shrugged, and listened out for where the beat fell when Machi began to play.

He caught Machi glancing at him as he hit the tambourine in time with the music.

_xxx_

Diego had nothing to give Machi on his birthday except a gentle shoulder-bump and a reminder that he was down to just one more year in prison. Machi bumped him back and smiled at Diego's raised index finger.

"Yeah."

The boy's smile faded, mirroring Diego's own expression. They were coming to the end of their time together.

Machi was subdued at breakfast and lunch, sending furtive little glances Diego's way every now and then. Diego wanted to tell him that he should be happy – just twelve short months and he was a free man again. But a part of him liked that Machi would be sad to leave him.

After lunch, Machi led Diego to the music room without looking at him. Diego frowned – the boy was visibly nervous. He began to worry. _Damn it, what now?_

He followed Machi to the piano, accepting the tambourine when Machi thrust it hastily into his hands. Diego lowered himself onto the piano seat and watched as Machi hunted through the tiny collection of music books piled up in the corner. Finally Machi found what he was looking for. He sat down, flicking through the book before finding the page he wanted, and propped it up on the music stand. He swallowed and gestured to the page.

"You know this song?"

Diego leaned forward, scanning the title and the first few lyrics. He nodded – it was a big hit that had hung around for years, still getting airplay right up until he went into the coma.

"You can read words?"

Diego nodded again.

Machi wet his lips nervously, and shifted on the seat so he could look at him.

"I reading a lot about brain," he began. "I find out that one part –" he tapped the side of his head where Diego's doctor had told him he'd had the stroke, "- for talking. One part for –" Machi clapped his hands, " – rhythm. And…" He tapped the other side of his head. "…one part for singing."

Diego frowned. _Where are you going with this, kid?_

"You have rhythm still," Machi continued, gesturing to the tambourine in Diego's hands. "Keep time – perfectly." He leaned in, excitement beginning to shine through his nerves. "Diego, I think you can sing."

Diego looked away. It had never occurred to him that he might still be able to sing. He'd never even tried. There was nothing to sing about in prison, especially when you were trapped in a body that was falling apart but stubbornly refused to die. Even if he _could_ still sing, none of that would change.

"Please?"

Diego looked back at Machi. The boy had taken his body language as a refusal. Machi smiled at him hopefully. "For me? Is my birthday. Big birthday. Twenty."

Diego gazed at the boy and considered the request a little more seriously. There was _something _about Machi's excitement – it was more than just believing Diego could sing. And Diego had to admit, he was curious. Hell, either he could, or he couldn't. Only one way to find out.

He nodded.

Machi let out a breath and smiled at him before turning to the piano. Diego listened as Machi played him in, and wet his lips.

"I used to rule the world. Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own."

_Fluent._ Slurred and off-key, but _fluent_. No stammering. No wrong words, no missing words, no disordered words. Every line exactly like the lines on the page. Diego broke off and let out a deep, shuddering breath. It had been so long since he'd been able to say what he wanted, the way he wanted. He ran both hands through his hair, trying to compose himself.

He heard Machi slow down as he missed his cue for the next line. Diego reached out and covered Machi's hands with his own. Machi stopped playing, and Diego turned away so he couldn't see the lyrics any more.

He took a deep breath.

"I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing, Roman cavalry choirs are singing. Be my mirror, my sword and shield, my missionaries in a foreign field. For some reason I can't explain, I know Saint Peter won't call my name. Never an honest word, but that was when I ruled the world."

_Oh God._

Diego buried his face in his hands.

He was still trying to process everything when Machi seized his shoulders with a whoop of joy and thumped him gently on the back. Diego pulled away reflexively and Machi let go, shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," Machi said. He was practically bouncing on the seat now, dying to tell Diego the rest of his research. Diego took a moment to compose himself, and looked at Machi, tilting his head slightly to one side.

"There is special therapy," Machi went on, unable to keep the smile off his face. "I read about it. It use music and singing to help people talk. People talk just like before they have stroke."

Diego looked away, took a deep breath and let it out slow. It wouldn't cure his bad side, but being able to speak again, as if the stroke had never happened, would make him feel a lot more like a man. He could needle Gavin, flirt with the homophobic guards, tell off the Tiger…

And then he slumped, huffing at himself for daring to hope. If this singing therapy was a runner, they would've offered it to him already.

"What?"

Diego looked at Machi and shook his head. He rubbed his first two fingers and thumb together.

"Oh." Machi's excitement evaporated, and for a few moments they stared at the piano in silence. Then Machi drew himself up, and looked at Diego. "I getting out soon. I get the money."

_Don't make those kinds of promises, kid._ But there was no harm in humouring the boy, so Diego nodded, and offered him a faint smile. He leaned forward, plucked the music book off the stand, and began to flick through it.

_Let's see what else you got in here._


	25. All Good Things

_Nurses and doctors bustled through the sterile white corridors while he waited nervously, shifting from foot to foot. He wanted to reach out and stop one of them, but he couldn't move._

"_Nurse." It was so hard to make words. "Nurse." His mouth felt like it was full of cotton._

_One of them stopped. "Just a little longer."_

"_But it's been twenty years." He managed to stretch his arms towards her, but his fingers brushed against glass. "Can I see her?"_

_The nurse considered for a few minutes, then nodded. "All right."_

"_Look, Diego."_

_Mia slid onto his bed, warm and soft against his aching bones. He leaned his forehead against hers, gazing down at the tiny blue bundle in her arms. A fuzzy, golden head peeped out of the blanket. Tiny paws covered eyes that hadn't opened yet._

"_Look what we made."_

_She looked out towards the sea, and he followed her gaze. A lion jogged easily through the surf, stopping to dip his head under the crashing waves. He shook his mane, and the droplets of water shone like diamonds under the summer sun._

Diego shifted sleepily as the dream faded, his hand straying below his waist. He paused after the first few idle strokes, then explored more slowly, tracing the outline of his morning erection.

_Welcome back, amigo. Where've you been all this time?_

_xxx_

"Breaking rocks in the hot sun."

Diego's new discovery hadn't solved all his problems. He couldn't communicate any more clearly with Machi, even if he'd been inclined to borrow other men's lyrics to tell his story. There was a language barrier to overcome, then a generation gap and a geography gap.

"I fought the law, and. The law won."

But just being able to put words in the right order at will made a huge difference to his life.

"I fought the law, and. The law won."

It certainly made work detail go faster.

"My, my, Mondo." Gant played idly with a lock of his hair, directing a predatory smile Diego's way. "A song in your heart? That hot young blond of yours must be making you _very _happy. Rude of you not to share with the class."

Ten years ago that would've constituted a threat, but not anymore. Diego tossed Gant a smirk and flipped him off.

He found himself humming or singing quietly to himself when he and Machi walked the yard together, the red clay stretching out forever in the growing heat of spring. Machi glanced at him from time to time, a small frown on his face, and Diego realised he was trying to follow the words. It was too bad the boy's English wasn't better. But then, he thought wryly, it was too bad Diego couldn't talk like a normal man, either.

"I hope my leg don't break. Walking on the moon. We could walk forever."

"Walking on the moon."

Diego smirked.

"We could be together –"

"Walking on the moon."

Diego stopped and shook his head.

"No?" Machi asked.

Diego shook his head again. "We could be together," he sang slowly. "Walking on. Walking. On the moon."

Machi nodded thoughtfully, and fell silent as they continued to walk.

_xxx_

They were in the music room again. Diego had sung practically every song in Machi's music book over the past few weeks. He was flicking idly through it while Machi messed around on the piano.

"Diego," Machi said, "sing something." He reached out and gently covered Diego's hand with his own, closing the music book. "Something not in book. Something that mean something to you."

Diego looked back at him. Machi had a thoughtful, almost troubled expression on his face. Diego frowned, looking at the piano keys.

It had been raining when she walked into the office for the first time, when he'd been smitten with her. He didn't remember all the little details, like you were supposed to – what he'd had for breakfast, the first thing he'd said to her, the first thing she'd said to him, all the crap that made up romantic comedies. But he remembered the song that was playing on the radio.

"Think about it. There must be higher love. Found in the heart or hidden in the stars above. Without it. Life is wasted time. Look inside your heart, I'll look inside mine."

He'd never told Mia, but he'd made it their song. It was track one on all the CDs he burned for driving, and evenings in, and making love. He was vaguely aware of Machi chiming in with chords as a flood of memories washed over him – the first time he took her to dinner, the way she bantered and smirked back as she slowly regained her confidence, the first time she'd ever invited him in for coffee and he'd been nervous, so nervous, in a way he hadn't been since he'd lost his virginity. Because he'd always kept a little distance with the women he dated, nothing serious, just sex and fun, but Mia, he knew after only a couple of months that he'd never want anyone else. He wanted her tea paraphernalia competing with his coffee-maker for counter space. He wanted her shoes cluttering up his wardrobe. He wanted to come home and smell her in every corner of his apartment. And when he realised she felt the same way, he got a feeling of freefall as if he was at the top of a rollercoaster right before it plunged towards the earth.

"Bring me a higher love. Bring me a higher love, oh. Bring me a higher love. Where's that higher love I keep thinking of?"

He couldn't any more. Diego broke off before his voice cracked. He rested his head in his good hand and let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"It remind you of your girl," Machi murmured after a few minutes.

Diego nodded.

"And…she gone now."

Diego let go another deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He straightened up and looked away. Machi said nothing, softly hitting chords on the piano.

"You tell me about her someday," he murmured at last. Diego flinched as Machi rested his hand on his knee, then relaxed as Machi patted it gently. "When you get your voice back."

Diego looked at him, and mustered a faint smile.

_xxx_

The anniversary of Diego's incarceration came and went. Thirteen years of hard time behind him, and who knew how many more ahead. He'd been a convicted murderer for as long as he'd been a defence attorney, a coma patient, and a prosecutor combined. Diego punctuated the observation with a wry smirk. All that school. What a waste.

Prison life continued as usual, the regular clockwork of the daily grind speeding the months along. Things were quiet, the monotony only broken by the occasional semi-infamous new arrival. The gang members largely kept their hands to themselves. Occasionally there was a scuffle in the yard or the mess hall, but it was swiftly broken up by the guards. Some of them got into drug-dealing and smuggling, but it was all small-time – the mob-connected prisoners ran all the important stuff.

Occasionally Diego would see one of Machi's former friends in the yard, but they never acknowledged him. Machi always got quiet whenever he noticed them. Diego didn't blame him. Crescend's death would stay with him for the rest of his life.

In June, Redd White got some bad medical news. By August he was gone – not dead, just transferred, but it was only a matter of time. Whatever it was had been eating him alive for months by the time they found it. Diego shook his head when he heard the news. He had squandered much of his precious time between coma and prison raging that he couldn't take revenge on the man who had taken Mia from him. Now that Mother Nature had poured out her karmic brew, he found it too bitter, even for him. No amount of bad blood would ever make him wish that lingering, painful death on another man.

In September, Furio Tigre disappeared from the block. Various stories flew back and forth, but the one Diego found most credible was that Viola Cadaverini was no longer sweet on him. The old man had never forgiven him for hurting his precious granddaughter, said the prison telegraph, and now that she'd moved on, the Tiger was on the endangered list. One by one, the last fragile connections to Diego's life as a free man were being severed.

Diego grew to hate the calendar on the wall, counting down his time with Machi. There was nothing he could do except fold laundry, sing for Machi, and walk the yard with him. The red clay stretched out forever as the evenings drew in. Soon he would walk it alone.

_My shadow's the only one who walks beside me._

And suddenly there were no more days.

"I getting out soon."

Machi looked at him apologetically as they sat on Diego's bunk. He looked away for a minute and wet his lips nervously. "Few days now. They not tell me date."

Diego nodded.

Machi looked away again, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair as he huffed out a sigh. Diego felt a flash of bitter amusement. The boy was the one being released, and yet he looked like he was more cut up about it than Diego. He reached out and patted Machi on the knee.

Suddenly he found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you for being my friend," Machi mumbled against his shoulder. "You save me from terrible mistake. I going home because of you."

Diego smiled briefly, curling both arms around the boy as best he could. He allowed the embrace to continue for a few minutes, then gently pushed Machi out of the hug. He wet his lips, struggling for words.

"…Machi…son…good. Good."

Machi smiled at him, swiping a stray tear away from his face. He tapped Diego gently on his good arm, and for a second Diego was sure he was going to say something – something like _don't get mushy, old man_. Instead the boy swallowed, stood up, and climbed into his own bunk without another word.

Two days later, he was gone.


	26. So Good

It was strange, being in a cell without Machi. He'd left his calendar behind. Diego took it down after a few days. He didn't want it there, silently counting off the days till the end of the month, making him hope.

The top brass moved Aristotle Means in with him a week after Machi's release. Another one, like Gant, who felt his conviction and sentence were an outrage. The disgraced professor made no attempt to communicate with Diego. Some men might have felt slighted by that, but Diego had bigger things to worry about. Without Machi, he was an easy target for young punks out to prove their ruthlessness, or older men who got their jollies from beating someone up. He limped around the yard on high alert, waiting for the inevitable attacks.

But they never came. Gavin needled him a little – he sat in Machi's seat that first day and commiserated with him over the loss of his "young companion", and was inclined to hum "All By Myself" whenever Diego was nearby. But no older prisoners picked on him, and the younger ones were more interested in beating up each other than going after a blind, drooling cripple. Diego couldn't help feeling a little insulted.

Outside, spring was coming. When Diego lingered by the perimeter fence, he could see new blades of grass sprouting beyond the exercise yard. He wished he still had the strength to work in the garden, helping to make things grow.

He did his best to ignore all the little signs that marked one day from the next – the cafeteria menu with meals set according to the days of the week, the free mornings on Sunday – but it was no use. He switched to bracing himself for visiting day instead. _He's not going to come, amigo. You know this. Accept it. Grieve._

"Armando."

He did such a good job, he thought the guards wanted him for something else.

"You've got a visitor."

Diego swallowed and got to his feet.

He spent the walk to the visitors' area preparing himself for the possibility that it was a cruel joke. And then he saw Machi, sitting behind the soundproof glass, smiling at him, and Diego couldn't help smiling back.

He slid into the chair and picked up the receiver. On the other side of the glass, Machi did the same.

"I promised I visit."

Diego's vision swam and he buried his face in his bad arm. He swallowed desperately, trying to clear the lump in his throat. Machi waited quietly for him to compose himself. At last Diego was able to look the boy in the eye.

He looked well. His hair was still on the shaggy side, but he'd had it cut and styled, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Diego smiled at him again, and Machi smiled back.

"I staying with my mother right now," he began. He glanced around and lowered his voice. "First thing I do, when I get out? I take shit with door closed."

Diego chuckled at that. Machi grinned at him. "Then I take shower without twenty ugly bastards trying to look at my balls."

Diego cracked up, earning a dirty look from one of the guards. He sobered, wiping the excess drool from his mouth with his bad arm, and gestured for Machi to continue.

"I looking for own apartment," Machi said, "and working in bakery for now. But I in studio on weekends. I hope soon it will be all the time and I can quit shitty job to make music." His expression grew serious. "I release big album, I can pay for therapy for you."

Diego nodded and gave him a brief smile. _Don't get your hopes up, kid. Talent isn't always enough to make it._ But it was nice of Machi to say so.

He sat and listened while Machi continued to talk, telling him about catching up with his mother, sister and brother; about Mr. Wright and the two other attorneys he had working for him now; the agent he had; the kind of songs he was working on. Diego couldn't stop a crooked smile from spreading across his face. Machi had everything he deserved, and Diego was happy for him.

"And how are you?" Machi asked finally. "Okay?"

Diego nodded.

"No-one picking on you?"

Diego smiled and shook his head.

"Do you still sing?"

Diego looked away, scratching the back of his head. He'd caught himself humming now and then, and sometimes sang quietly to himself in the yard when no-one was in earshot, but not as loud or as brazenly as he had when Machi was there. No point giving the other prisoners a fresh excuse to target him.

"When you're alone," Machi guessed.

Diego shrugged. Machi gazed at him silently for a few moments, and Diego suddenly realised the boy wanted him to sing for him. He shifted uncomfortably, glanced at the guards, and cleared his throat.

"Then I look at you. And the world's all right with me. Just one look at you. And I know it's gonna be. A lovely day."

His face was burning, and he could feel the guards staring at him. But Machi's smile was worth the embarrassment.

_xxx_

The days and weeks continued on. Bed check, laundry, exercise time, chow, lights out. Diego did his best not to make too much of Machi's visit. It was just one time, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. But it was no use. There was a little green shoot of hope poking through the red desert clay. And when Machi came back the next month, and the next, and the next, it only grew stronger.

_xxx_

Two weeks before Machi's next visit, Diego was savouring a cup of coffee in the rec room. The radio was tuned to the local station – background noise as far as Diego was concerned, the songs blending into each other. Until he heard Machi's name.

"…with a song that's just _tearing_ up the UTune charts right now," the DJ continued, as Diego straightened up and paid attention. "Looks to be the breakout hit of the summer." He paused as the first few bars began to play. "This is 'Hey Girl Hey'."

Diego listened intently, a lopsided smile on his face. The lyrics weren't particularly deep, but Machi's piano-playing was as excellent as he remembered, with a few particularly catchy riffs. The DJ's prediction was right – it _was_ the breakout hit of the summer. By the time Machi came to visit, Diego could sing it word for word.

Machi chuckled into the receiver when Diego had finished.

"So you like?"

Diego nodded.

"I don't like the words," Machi replied with a shrug. "I don't write them. I sing what they tell me. But I pleased with piano. I write all piano parts."

Diego nodded again. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at Machi. He'd shaved off his beard and changed his hairstyle – shaved at the back, cut short and feathered on top. He'd been hitting the weights, too. His white T-shirt clung to his well-defined chest and his arms had a nice shape to them. Cut, but not hulking. Diego gestured at his own hair and body, and Machi grinned.

"Yeah, I have to get all pretty for the girls," he said sheepishly. "My agent says I sell more songs that way. But…" He clamped the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder while he dug his wallet out of his jeans. "…I only care what one girl thinks."

He held up a photograph of a young woman sitting at a pottery wheel. She was cute, with a mop of short brown hair and large brown eyes. Diego smirked and fanned himself with his free hand.

"Her name is Robin," Machi explained. "She works as a prosecutor. A friend of Hugh – that's how we met." He put the picture away. "I write song for her, but is all in Borginian, so not on the album." He shrugged. "Is okay though. I keep –" He patted his chest. " – for now."

Diego just nodded. Machi flashed him a shy smile.

"Maybe I bring her to see you someday."

Diego smiled back. Machi had a job, a girlfriend, and he was pursuing his dreams. It was everything Diego had wanted for him.

_xxx_

Without meaning to, Diego settled into a new routine, marking the passage of the weeks and months by Machi's visits. He paid attention to the radio when he was in the rec room, listening for more of Machi's work. 'Hey Girl Hey' was followed by a downbeat, but still catchy, ballad called 'Blue Summer Sunshine', right at the end of August. After that came another pop single, 'C'mon Girl Dance With Me'. Both of them made the top ten of the singles charts. By December, all the pop DJs were speculating about whether Machi would release another single, and if it would be the Christmas Number One.

He was going to be huge.

"You're a talent, you know that I've noticed. You'd like to be a legend, a big star overnight."

Machi grinned and took his sunglasses off.

"Press outside," he explained, tucking them into the neck of his hoodie. Diego frowned slightly. Machi looked paler than usual, and there were bags under his eyes. He hoped the studio execs and the record producers weren't pushing the boy too hard.

"We're releasing album soon," Machi continued. " 'Hey Girl'." He shrugged. "I think is stupid title. Picture of car and girl on cover." He made a dismissive noise and rolled his eyes. "But is not up to me, and people like it."

Diego's frown deepened. Machi's career was taking off, and he wasn't exactly leaping for joy. He hoped the boy was just unhappy with the studio suits meddling with his work. He was still very young, and stardom could do strange things to people. Matt Engarde was living proof of that.

"Is okay," Machi said hurriedly. "This is how it is in music. I have to play the game. I do well, I get more control." He leaned forward and put his free hand on the glass. "Diego. Is okay. Really."

Diego nodded. He put his hand on the glass too, and gave Machi a smile. _I know, kid. Old men just like to worry._

Machi smiled back and took his hand away. Diego did likewise.

"I'm going on tour in the spring," Machi said seriously. "So…this is my last visit for a while."

Diego managed to keep the disappointment off his face. This was something Machi needed to do, and Diego didn't want him sacrificing his dreams for a crippled prisoner.

"But I write you," Machi continued. "My English is still not so good, but I send you something from every city. Postcard maybe." He smirked. "Postcard of pretty lady. I think you like that?"

Diego snickered and nodded.

The guard gave them the signal to wrap it up. Machi acknowledged him, and pushed his chair back.

"Diego. Is song on my album called 'See You in the Fall'," he said. "I see you in the fall."

Diego nodded. Machi stood up, but didn't hang up the receiver yet.

"Postcard from every city. I promise."

Diego nodded again and gave him a thumbs up. Machi replaced the receiver and waved goodbye. Diego watched as he walked towards the door, pulling up his hood and putting on his sunglasses as he went.

_xxx_

Machi's December single was called 'Give Me Your Hand (And I'll Give You My Heart)'. Diego caught the end of the music video while channel-surfing in the rec room one day. Machi was in a log cabin playing a white baby grand in front of a roaring fire, wearing a sleeveless white hoodie.

It made the Christmas Number One.

That year, Diego got his first Christmas present since before the coma. A card from Machi, a new calendar titled "I Heart California", and a copy of Machi's album 'Hey Girl'. The screws let him listen to it that Sunday. 'See You in the Fall' was a catchy little number.

He missed Machi's visits, but he couldn't begrudge the boy his success. Diego paid attention to the radio, and lingered over the news and entertainment shows whenever he had custody of the remote in the rec room. Machi's nation-wide tour was set to kick off mid-February. By the first week of January, tickets were like gold dust. Diego couldn't help shaking his head a little. The record company execs sure knew how to market their latest act. Machi had a boyish face and baby-blue eyes, with innocent golden curls on top. His toned, well-defined muscles said he was all man, and his undercut and sunglasses hinted that he was a badboy. Pure girl-bait. It was almost enough to make an old man jealous.

Diego hummed 'Happy Birthday to You' in Machi's honour, marking off the day under a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge. He hoped the boy was celebrating it in style.

In February, the postcards started coming. Most of them featured women in bathing suits or cheerleading outfits, just like Machi had promised. Each had a couple of lines in shaky English on the back – "Sold out show", "Wish you were here", or "I rocked the city". Diego kept them under his mattress, taking them out from time to time when Means was asleep. He missed women – their gentleness, their perfume, the way they felt in his lap. He daydreamed sometimes about ending his days in a private room, with three or four soft, pretty nurses taking care of him. Hell, just one cute little kitten in the prison hospital, who grew fond of him and would miss him when he was gone, would be enough.

It was just an old man's fantasy. But somehow, it didn't seem so impossible any more.

The spring days stretched into summer. One week in July, Diego received a large blue envelope instead of a postcard. It took him a minute to realise what it could be. He ripped the envelope and fished out the card inside. On the front was a photograph of a lion being bitten on the tail by his cub. He opened it with shaky fingers.

'To Diego. 50 today you old geezer. Love Machi.'

Diego gazed at the message for a few moments, then slid his visor off and swiped his fingers across his eyes.

He sang a little louder while he strolled around the exercise yard, his prison shirt draped over his good shoulder. The guards gave him the stinkeye, but he didn't care. A man was entitled to feel the sun on his skin.

"Girl, tell me how you feel. What's your fantasy-o? I see us on a beach down in Mexico. You can put your feet up, be my senorita. We ain't gotta rush, just take it slow."

Just a few more months till he saw Machi again. He hoped the boy was taking care of himself in between all that touring.

"You'll be in the high life, soaking up the sunlight. Anything you want, it's yours."

He lingered at the fence, gazing at the impossibly blue sky and the staff parking lot shimmering in the desert heat.

"I'll have you living life like you should. You'll say you never had it so good."


End file.
